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RAMBLING 
RECOLLECTIONS 


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RAMBLING 
RECOLLECTIONS 

AH  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


BY 


A.  D.  ROCKWELL,  M.D. 


NEW  YORK 

PAUL  B.  HOEBER 
1920 


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Copyright  1920 
By  PAUL  B.  HOEBER 


Published  January,  1920 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CD 
O 


I    . 


THESE   RECOLLECTIONS 

ARE  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 

TO  MY  WIFE  AND  CHILDREN 


My  thanks  are  due  to  my  friend 
Mr.  Charles  Hardy  Meigs,  to  whom 
I  am  indebted  for  many  valuable  sug' 
gestions  and  much  helpful  aid  in  the 
preparation  of  these  pages. 


FOREWORD 

The  sun  nears  the  western  sky,  and  sitting  by  my  peaceful 
fireside,  memories  come  trooping  on  to  cheer  and  comfort  me. 
One  has  said  "in  the  circle  of  life  the  nearer  we  are  to  the  end, 
the  closer  are  we  to  the  beginning,"  and  so  in  the  following 
pages  I  have  lingered  long,  perhaps  too  long,  over  my  boy- 
hood days.  They  have  ever  brought  pleasant  thoughts  to  me 
— my  only  apology  for  their  prominence  in  these  recollec- 
tions. Written  originally  for  the  perusal  of  my  children  only, 
this  story  of  my  life  has  unwittingly  crept  between  these  two 
covers.  If  any  other  readers  can  find  a  grain  of  pleasure 
herein  in  whiling  away  a  few  hours,  I  shall  be  doubly  repaid 
for  my  efforts. 

A.  D.  R. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  PAGE 

I. — Childhood  and  Early  Youth     ....         13 

Earliest  Remembrances — The  New  Canaan  Seminary — 
My  Father's  School — Boyish  Escapades — The  Country 
Doctor — Summer  Excursions  and  Winter  Sports — Visits 
to  My  Grandparents — "Old  Sarah's"  Cave — The  Boys' 
Parlor — Church  Going — Comstock's  Pond— First  At- 
tempts at  Composition — The  Coming  of  the  Bishop — 
Visits  to  My  Aunt  in  Cherry  Time — My  Uncle  and  His 
Country  Store. 

II. — Youth  and  Early  Manhood      ....         63 

Enter  the  Employ  of  Ball,  Black  &  Company,  N.  Y. — 
New  York  in  the  Fifties — Henry  Ward  Beecher  and 
Plymouth  Church — Return  to  New  Canaan — Teach  in 
My  Father's  School — Enter  Kenyon  College — Descrip- 
tion of  College  Days  and  College  Friends — Begin  the 
Study  of  Medicine — Teach  in  a  Country  School — First 
Army  Experiences,  Guarding  Prisoners  at  Camp  Chase — 
Enter  the  Medical  Department  of  the  University  of 
Michigan — Final  Course  of  Lectures  at  the  Bellevue 
Hospital  Medical  College,  N.  Y. — Description  of  the 
Faculty — Graduation — Again  Enter  the  Army  as  Assist- 
ant Surgeon  of  the  Sixth  Ohio  Volunteer  Cavalry. 

III. — A  Ride  with  Sheridan 137 

General  Sheridan — The  Crossing  of  the  Rapidan — 
Battle  of  the  Wilderness — Sheridan's  Raid — A  Surprise 
Attack — Battles  of  Yellow  Tavern — Hawes'  Shop — 
Cold  Harbor — Trevilian  Station — St.  Mary's  Church 
— Capture  of  the  Weldon  Railroad — The  Siege  of  Rich- 
mond and  Petersburg — The  Fall  of  These  Cities— Pur- 
suit of  the  Confederate  Army — Appomattox. 

IV. — Civil  Life  and  Practice 177 

Begin  Practice  in  New  York  City — Dr.  George  M. 
Beard — His  Early  Life  and  Characteristics — Become 
Interested  in  the  Relation  of  Electricity  to  Medicine — 
Form  Partnership  with  Dr.  Beard  for  the  Purpose  of  Its 
Development — Our  Early  Work — My  Marriage — Old 
St.  James' — Dr.  Beard  and  I  Dissolve  Partnership — Dr. 
Beard's  Experience  as  a  Popular  Lecturer — Professorship 
in  the  New  York  Post  Graduate  Medical  School. 


io  CONTENTS 

BOOK  PAGE 

V. — Electro  Execution 221 

My  Official  Connection  With  It — Experiments  at  Edi- 
son's Laboratory  and  the  Prisons  of  the  State  to  Deter- 
mine the  Best  Method  of  Procedure — Opposition  to  the 
New  Law  by  the  Westinghouse  Company — Experiences 
as  a  Witness  for  the  State. 

VI. — A  Trip  Abroad 233 

The  Bromide  of  Sodium  as  an  Antidote  for  Sea  Sickness 
— Ex-Secretary  of  the  Treasury  Bristow  and  Boss  Shep- 
herd— A  Cycling  Trip  Through  the  Valley  of  the  Wye 
— Studies  of  Characteristics  in  the  Tap-Rooms  of  Eng- 
lish Inns — An  Accident — London,  Paris  and  Home. 

VII. — Personal  Sketches 253 

Chief  Justice  Salmon  P.  Chase — Edwin  M.  Stanton — 
Rutherford  B.  Hayes — Theodore  Roosevelt — General 
Wm.  T.  Sherman — Commodore  Vanderbilt — Henry 
Ward  Beecher — Benjamin  F.  Tracy — Senator  Grimes — 
The  Potters — Moses  Taylor — David  Hoadly — Wm.  E. 
Dodge — Peter  Stuyvesant — General  Niven — George 
Francis  Train — Burroughs  Lewis — Simon  Sterne — 
Charles  Scribner — E.  Delafield  Smith— Albert  Bierstadt 
— General  S.  Wylie  Crawford — Mark  Twain — Wm. 
M.  Tweed — Rev.  Stephen  H.  Tyng,  Jr. — Judge  Henry 
E.  Davies — Wm.  S.  Mayo — Dr.  Gilbert — Frederick 
Loeser — Benj.  Altman — John  Jay — Captain  Zalinski — 
Rev.  Thos.  B.  Slicer — Moncure  Conway — William 
Astor — J.  K.  Emmet — Isaac  K.  Funk — Robert  Mc- 
Curdy — Alex.  Graham  Bell — Adrian  Iselin — George 
Kemp — James  B.  Haggin — J.  Hooker  Hamersley — The 
Colgates — Asa  Packer — Lieutenant  General  Adna  H. 
Chaffee — Major  General  Wm.  H.  Carter — Stewart  L. 
Woodford — Dr.  John  T.  Metcalfe — General  Thos.  B. 
Sweeny — Joseph  Cook — Rev.  Wm.  H.  H.  Murray — 
Governor  Daniel  Henry  Chamberlain — Marc  Klaw — 
Captain  Frederick   Hobart. 

Epilogue 324 

Index  327 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

The    Birthplace    of    the    Author,    then 

Known  as  the  New  Canaan  Seminary    .       .      Frontispiece 

The  Old  Rockwell  Home,  Ridgefield,  Con- 
necticut, Built  in  1800 Facing  Page     42 

Lake  Waccabuc 46 

Kenyon  College,  Built  in  1828  ....  84 

A.  D.  Rockwell,  M.D.,  Surgeon  and  Major 
in  the  Sixth  Ohio  Cavalry,  U.  S.  V.,  1864  "      136 

A.  D.  Rockwell "        "176 

George  M.  Beard "      182 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH 


WAS  born  in  New  Canaan,  Conn.,  May  18th, 
1840,  and  was  christened  Alphonso  David 
Rockwell.  This,  however,  was  not  the  name 
by  which  I  was  first  known.  My  parents 
evidently  had  a  strong  Biblical  tendency,  for 
the  Prophet  Elias  came  near  being  perpetu- 
ated through  me.  Alphonso  Elias  was  the 
name  with  which  I  started  on  this  earthly  pilgrimage,  and 
indicated  my  identity  for  the  first  six  years  of  my  life.  One 
day  my  father  called  me  to  him  and  said  he  was  thinking  of 
changing  my  middle  name  from  Elias  to  David.  This  was  my 
father's  name,  and  he  wished  me  to  share  it  with  him.  To 
this  I  strenuously  objected,  but  he  pacified  me  by  saying  that 
we  would  "just  call  it  so."  This,  I  remember,  satisfied  me; 
since  "calling  it  so"  would  not  in  reality  make  it  so,  I  thought, 
and  so  I  made  no  further  objection.  On  the  following  Sun- 
day, however,  with  my  four  brothers,  I  was  christened  in 
church,  and  in  my  case  "David"  substituted  for  "Elias."  I 
do  not  remember  that  I  was  much  disturbed  about  it. 

One's  earlier  remembrances  are  scattered  and  few.  It  is 
my  idea  that  all  mental  impressions  are  permanently  retained. 
The  brain  cells  are  innumerable,  millions  of  them,  and  each 
one  capable  of  storing  away  for  future  use  the  imprint  of 
every  event  and  thought.  Some  cells  are  active,  others  dor- 
mant, and  as  the  years  go  by  the  active  cells  become  relatively 
less,  so  that  the  mind  can,  at  will,  call  to  light  but  an  infini- 
tesimal number  of  the  happenings  of  the  past.  But,  just  as  in 
the  physical  world  no  particle  of  matter  is  lost,  so  also  in  the 
realm  of  mind  and  spirit.  The  brain  may  be  compared  to  an 
old  garret,  where  are  stored  away  in  its  musty  recesses  things 
of  the  past.  In  the  case  of  the  mind,  only  some  few  events 
as  memories  remain  permanently  with  us;  and  a  few  others 

13 


i4  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

are  revivified  only  through  some  fitting  association  of  ideas. 
The  vast  overwhelming  majority  of  the  occurrences  of  life 
remain  dormant  and  consciously  will  never  more  exist. 

My  earliest  recollection  relates  to  the  latter  part  of  my 
third  year.  I  remember  one  pleasant  spring  morning  march- 
ing around  the  house  with  a  book  under  my  arm,  and  singing 
out  "Four  years  old  next  May!"  One  other  event  only  do 
my  brain  cells  liberate.  I  am  conscious  of  a  cloudy  morning. 
I  am  alone  in  the  yard  in  front  of  the  dwelling-house  with  a 
kite  flying  high  in  air,  very  high  it  seems  to  me,  for  it  is  above 
the  house.  The  string  breaks  and  away  it  goes  to  regions 
unknown.  At  this  time  my  father  was,  I  believe,  out  of  busi- 
ness. He  was  a  teacher,  and  after  following  his  profession 
in  a  number  of  places, — Reading,  Conn.,  being  one  of  them — 
he  bought  this  New  Canaan  place  and  established  his  school 
there.  Two  or  three  years  previous  to  the  time  I  am  writ- 
ing about,  however,  he  had  given  up  the  school  and  had  gone 
into  the  business  of  a  general  country  store  with  my  mother's 
brother,  Seymour  Comstock.  As  neither  of  them  was  a  very 
good  business  man,  the  enterprise  came  to  naught.  My  father 
desired  to  return  to  his  regular  business,  for  which  he  was  by 
nature  well  fitted,  but  the  lease  of  his  property  would  not  ex- 
pire for  two  years  and  he  must  needs  look  about  for  another 
place.  He  decided  on  Ridgefield,  his  ancestral  home,  and 
my  next  recollection  is  that  of  playing  with  a  ball  in  the  yard 
of  the  house  on  the  beautiful  old  village  street  where  he  had 
domiciled  his  family.  The  ball  rolled  into  a  cistern,  and  the 
scene  closes.  I  remember  also  trying  to  go  alone  up  the  street 
to  my  grandfather's,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  As  we 
stayed  in  Ridgefield  less  than  two  weeks,  the  memory  of  these 
two  incidents  indicates  that  the  mind  was  growing  in  retentive 
strength.  For  some  reason  it  was  decided  that  Ridgefield  was 
not  a  desirable  place  for  the  school,  and  we  therefore  moved 
ten  miles  further  on  to  Danbury. 

How  peaceful  and  primitive  the  little  town  of  Ridgefield 
must  have  been  in  those  early  days !  Some  seven  hundred  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea  and  fifteen  miles  from  the  waters 
of  the  Sound,  it  was  indeed  isolated  and  far  from  the  mad- 
ding crowd.  Few  of  its  industrious  inhabitants  had  ever 
seen  the  great  metropolis.     There  were  no  railroads  in  that 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  15 

section  of  the  country  ( 1845  )>  an^  to  get  t0  New  York  meant 
a  long  drive  to  Norwalk  or  Stamford,  and  thence  by  sloop 
or  steamboat  to  the  City.  Everything  was  quiet  and  serene. 
If  it  cannot  be  said  that  nobody  worried,  as  it  cannot  be  said 
of  any  people,  it  can  be  said  with  approximate  truth  that  no- 
body hurried.     But  more  of  Ridgefield  anon. 

Danbury,  too,  was  not  much  of  a  town,  but  compared  to 
Ridgefield  it  was  a  busy  place.  There  was  a  hat  factory  there 
and  a  half  a  dozen  stores,  more  or  less.  One  actually  saw 
people  on  the  streets  sometimes,  and  in  going  into  a  store  it 
was  not  an  occasion  for  surprise  if  one  saw  a  customer  or  two 
buying  goods.  It  was  not  necessary  to  wait  until  Sunday,  as 
in  Ridgefield,  to  see  the  people.  In  that  town  very  few  were 
ever  seen  on  the  village  street,  excepting  on  Sundays,  when 
everybody  went  to  church. 

I  have  some  pleasant  recollections  of  the  year  that  we 
spent  at  Danbury.  How  the  boys  of  the  school  came  from 
and  went  to  New  York  I  do  not  remember,  but  I  suppose  they 
must  have  come  by  steamboat  to  Norwalk,  and  by  some  sort 
of  conveyance  to  Danbury.  Although  then  but  five  years  old, 
I  distinctly  remember  the  house,  the  grounds,  the  road  and 
the  general  aspect  of  the  surrounding  country.  We  were  on 
what  is  still  called  Deer  Hill,  directly  overlooking  the  village 
street,  down  which  we  coasted  during  the  winter.  Evidently 
it  was  called  Deer  Hill  because  of  some  association  with  that 
animal,  but  the  name  has  always  seemed  appropriate  to  me 
because  of  the  cute  little  fawn  that  some  of  the  boys  had 
caught  on  the  "mountain" — a  high  hill  about  a  mile  away. 
He  was  a  beautiful  little  thing,  still  needing  a  mother's  care, 
yet  he  thrived  and  seemed  altogether  contented  with  his  en- 
vironment. He  never  wandered  away,  but  became  a  uni- 
versal pet.  One  day  some  of  the  mischievous  boys  began  to 
tease  him,  and,  when  the  annoyance  became  unbearable,  the 
deer,  with  one  venturesome  bound,  vaulted  over  the  high 
fence,  fled  down  the  road  towards  the  "mountain"  and  soon 
disappeared  from  view.  It  was  the  "call  of  the  wild,"  instinc- 
tive, stimulated  to  action  by  the  teasing  of  human  captors.  I 
say  we  never  saw  him  more,  but  one  day  on  one  of  our  ex- 
cursions to  the  "mountain"  we  saw,  not  far  away,  quietly 
gazing  at  us,  what  all  declared  to  be  the  very  same  animal. 


1 6  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

We  tried  to  lure  him  to  us,  but  he  turned  tail,  pushed  into 
the  woods,  and  so  far  as  we  were  concerned  that  was  the  last 
of  our  little  pet. 

Many,  many  years  after,  a  friend  of  mine,  by  name  Dr. 
William  C.  Wile,  amassed  a  fortune  in  Danbury.  He  grad- 
ually withdrew  from  the  practice  of  medicine  and  engaged  in 
the  manufacture  and  sale  of  proprietary  medicines.  Up  the 
side  of  this  great  mountain  of  my  childish  mind  he  built,  in 
the  midst  of  his  domain  of  two  hundred  acres  or  so,  a  beauti- 
ful house  overlooking  the  home  of  my  early  boyhood.  Fur- 
ther up  on  the  very  summit  of  the  "mountain"  another  man- 
sion now  stands,  and  between  these  two  is  the  very  spot,  I 
fancy,  where  this  deer  was  caught,  and  where  afterwards  we 
saw  it  quietly  grazing  in  its  newly  found  freedom. 

Being  but  five  years  old  when  we  migrated  to  Danbury,  I 
do  not  recall  much  about  the  interior  of  the  house ;  none  of  the 
rooms  where  we  slept  or  studied  or  dined  are  visualized.  But 
the  large  square  house,  with  its  yard  and  enclosing  white 
picket  fence,  the  outhouses,  and  especially  the  outlook  to  the 
Southern  hills  and  over  the  little  village  nestling  to  the  East 
and  below  us,  have  never  been  forgotten. 

My  father  had  been  brought  up  in  the  faith  of  the  Metho- 
dist church,  my  mother  in  that  of  the  Episcopalian.  It  was 
here  in  Danbury  that  he  transferred  his  allegiance  to  the 
latter.  The  Methodists  at  that  time  were  not  quite  so  dec- 
orous in  their  worship  as  at  the  present  day.  In  their  prayer 
meetings  especially,  noise  was  the  predominating  feature. 
The  noisier  they  were,  the  greater  the  religion !  The  Indians 
of  old,  when  they  wished  to  exorcise  the  evil  spirits,  danced, 
howled,  and  beat  their  drums.  It  was  good  exercise  and  good 
fun,  too.  Similarly,  our  forefathers,  in  order  to  propitiate 
the  Good  Spirit,  often  did  the  same  thing  in  a  different  way. 
They  did  not  beat  the  drum  nor  dance,  but  they  did  a  great 
deal  of  groaning,  and  with  quite  as  good  success  for  the  time 
as  their  ruder  brethren.  But  that  these  irrational  and  violent 
methods  of  procedure  assisted  very  much  in  elevating  the 
moral  nature  may  well  be  doubted. 

Emerson  says,  "To  aim  to  convert  a  man  by  miracles  is  a 
profanation  of  the  soul.  A  true  conversion,  a  true  Christ,  is 
now,  as  always,  to  be  made  by  the  reception  of  beautiful  senti- 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  17 

ments."  Some  such  conception  as  this  must  have  entered  my 
father's  mind  and  discouraged  him  from  further  attendance 
at  these  noisy,  yet  evidently  sincere,  gatherings.  He  retained 
his  orthodoxy  to  the  end,  but  preferred  worship  that  was 
orderly  and  quiet.  He  therefore  joined  the  Episcopal  church, 
and  I  well  remember  my  first  attendance  at  one  of  its  services. 
The  surplice  of  the  minister  I  mistook  for  a  nightgown,  and 
in  a  far-reaching  whisper  to  my  mother,  expressed  my  aston- 
ishment that  he  had  not  dressed  himself  before  coming  to 
church. 

About  three  miles  from  the  town  there  was  a  beautiful 
sheet  of  water,  called  Mill  Plane  Pond,  now  called  Lake 
Kenosha,  or  some  more  euphonious  Indian  name.  To  this 
pond  all  the  school  occasionally  went  for  an  excursion  and  to 
sport  in  its  waters.  How  my  mind  reverts  to  the  peaceful 
quietude  of  those  times.  A  lovely  lake  undefiled  by  an  en- 
croaching population,  solitary  and  alone,  with  human  habita- 
tions scattered  along  the  road  only  here  and  there,  just  suffi- 
cient to  keep  one  in  touch  with  one's  kind.  Very  few  of  the 
care-free  boys  that  used  to  tramp  so  cheerily  to  the  Pond  still 
live.  What  commingled  joys,  sorrows,  successes,  failures, 
and  even  tragedies,  may  have  been  illustrated  in  their  lives. 

It  is  a  cool  October  early  morning.  Looking  out  of  the 
window  before  breakfast,  I  see  three  boys  jumping  up  and 
down  a  bending  board.  My  father  sees  them  and  appears 
not  altogether  pleased.  He  is  about  to  call  to  them  with  some 
impatience  when  my  mother,  who  is  always  ready  to  take  the 
part  of  the  boys,  interferes,  points  out  what  a  good  time  they 
are  having  and  that  they  are  doing  no  harm.  Two  of  these 
boys  were  the  brothers  William  and  Edward  Browning,  after- 
wards heads  of  the  great  clothing  house  of  the  name,  who 
amassed  millions  of  money.  Both  are  now  dead.  Edward, 
the  younger,  became  blind  and  helpless.  I  have  seen  him,  old 
and  sightless,  led  through  the  streets  by  his  attendant,  and 
the  two  pictures  of  the  extremes  of  life, — one  the  joyous, 
vigorous  boy,  the  other  the  sad,  helpless  veteran  at  the  end 
of  his  course, — were  altogether  pathetic. 

In  1846,  having  resided  but  one  year  in  Danbury,  we 
moved  to  Greenwich.  Why  we  moved  again  so  soon,  I  do  not 
remember,  but  probably  because  the  town  was  so  far  away 


1 8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

from  New  York  where  most  of  the  pupils  lived.  Greenwich 
was  much  nearer,  directly  on  the  Sound,  and  there  was  no  long 
land  transportation.  Although  I  remember  so  many  events 
connected  with  our  stay  in  Danbury,  I  recall  absolutely  noth- 
ing about  our  leaving,  as  I  remember  nothing  about  our  go- 
ing there.  Like  Danbury,  Greenwich  was  an  exceedingly 
quiet,  primitive  village,  with  its  plain  country  residents  of 
small  means,  very  different  from  the  ambitious  place  of  to-day, 
with  its  palatial  mansions  occupying  every  commanding  height, 
and  the  home  of  wealth  almost  incalculable.  Our  house  was 
situated  on  the  main  street,  just  south  of  the  street  that  led 
down  to  the  steamboat  landing,  about  a  mile  away.  In  those 
days  there  were  sister  steamboats,  named  the  Cricket  and 
the  Catiline,  that  made  daily  trips  to  and  from  New  York. 
They  were  small  boats,  but  how  enormous  and  grand  they 
seemed  to  me  then.  One  was  commanded  by  Alphonso  Peck, 
for  whom  I  was  named.  The  house  in  which  we  lived  is,  I 
think,  still  standing,  and  was  well  fitted  for  school  work,  be- 
ing large  and  square  and  with  many  rooms.  Singularly 
enough,  illustrating  how  capricious  is  memory,  I  cannot  recall 
the  name  of  a  single  one  of  the  boys  that  were  pupils  at 
Greenwich,  while  I  remember  quite  a  number  of  those  with 
us  earlier  at  Danbury,  and  yet  I  was  a  year  older,  and  a  year 
in  the  first  half  decade  of  life  is  a  long  time. 

About  Greenwich  itself,  however,  its  streets,  its  houses,  its 
people,  I  remember  much  more.  I  made  my  first  acquaint- 
ance with  the  full  moon  at  this  time.  I  see  myself  standing 
on  the  back  porch  gazing,  gazing,  and  wondering.  To  me  there 
never  was,  nor  ever  can  be,  a  man  in  the  moon.  I  saw  no  face 
there,  only  a  river  bank  with  an  overhanging  tree,  and  that 
is  what  I  see  to  this  day  when  looking  at  the  full  moon. 
I  was  told  by  one  of  the  boys  that  if,  under  the  full  moon,  I 
looked  at  anything  with  sufficient  intentness  with  my  face 
turned  towards  my  left  shoulder,  and  wished  for  it,  I  should 
get  it.  Over  the  fence  was  a  neighbor's  yard  that  was  for- 
bidden ground.  There  were  some  fine  large  apples  there, 
and  I  longed  for  one.  I  climbed  on  the  fence  and  put  the 
principle  in  practice  one  moonlight  night,  and  waited  longingly 
with  some  confidence  that  the  apple  would  come  to  me.  No 
apple  came.     I  believe  I  was  not  entirely  disillusioned  at  that 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  19 

time,  since  it  was  explained  that  one  could  not  always  expect 
to  be  successful  on  the  first  trial.  On  another  occasion,  one 
frosty  morning  in  autumn,  a  boy  told  me  that  if  we  walked  on 
the  top  of  a  broad  stone  fence  nearby,  we  should  be  more 
comfortable,  since  we  should  be  nearer  the  sun.  We  tried  it, 
but  whether  our  imaginations  helped  us  to  get  warmer,  I  do 
not  remember.  So  it  would  seem  that,  as  a  child  I  was  ordi- 
narily credulous,  ready  to  believe  the  thing  that  was  told  me; 
while  as  a  man,  I  am  more  than  ordinarily  incredulous.  It  is 
difficult  for  me  to  believe  anything  that  does  not  commend 
itself  to  my  judgment;  anything  that  is  not  in  accordance  with 
things  known  and  understood,  or  that  is  beyond  the  pale  of 
ordinary  experience  and  understanding,  must  be  weighed  and 
well  considered,  and  a  reason  given. 

My  father  at  this  time  joined  the  Episcopal  church.  The 
whole  school  every  Sunday  morning  marched  two  by  two  in  a 
long  line  to  the  church,  situated  half-way  down  Putnam's  Hill. 
During  the  Revolution,  when  the  British  invaded  this  quiet 
hamlet,  they  found  some  Continentals  there  under  Putnam. 
These  retreated  across  a  swamp  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  while 
Putnam  made  his  way  on  horseback  down  some  steps  used  by 
the  people  coming  to  church.  I  have  an  idea  that  some  of 
these  steps  were  pointed  out  to  me  in  my  boyhood  time.  If 
Putnam  really  did  ride  his  horse  down  those  steps,  in  all 
probability  he  went  gingerly  enough,  but  the  popular  represen- 
tation was  that  of  the  general  on  a  horse,  wild  with  excite- 
ment, dashing  down  the  stone  steps  at  perilous  speed,  while 
from  behind,  the  enemy  were  firing  ineffective  volleys. 

This  swamp  through  which  our  forces  escaped  became 
quite  a  pond  in  winter,  and  many  were  the  fine  times  we  en- 
joyed skating  there.  New  Canaan  was  fourteen  miles  away 
and  the  steeple  of  the  Congregational  church  near  our  old 
home  was  quite  easily  seen  on  a  clear  day.  I  well  remember 
calling  attention  to  it.  It  was  a  day  of  surpassing  beauty,  a 
clear  blue  sky,  without  cloud,  mist  or  haze.  We  were  on  our 
way  to  church,  and  from  the  crest  of  the  hill  I  espied  the  lone 
spire  in  the  dim  distance.  I  pointed  it  out  to  my  father  with 
some  excitement,  and  I  well  remember  with  what  interest  and 
awe  I  gazed  upon  the  familiar  steeple,  now  a  mere  thread,  so 
far  away. 


20  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

Th  rector  of  the  church  was  a  Mr.  Yarrington,  and  he  and 
my  father  became  fast  friends.  The  rector  was  a  good  old- 
fashioned  churchman,  and  my  father  being  a  new  recruit,  a 
convert,  as  it  were,  the  minister  took  a  special  interest  in 
fanning  to  a  good  fervent  heat  the  churchly  tendency  in  his 
parishioner.  Mr.  Yarrington  was  a  finely  bred  man,  a 
gentleman  in  every  sense,  and  years  after,  when,  with  my  wife 
and  children,  I  was  returning  from  my  summer  sojourn  at 
New  Canaan,  I  met  him  on  the  New  Haven  train.  He  was 
then  an  old  man,  so  old  that  he  was  in  possession  of  a  cane 
that  was  and  still  is,  I  suppose,  handed  over  to  the  oldest  rec- 
tor in  the  diocese.  I  found  him  the  same  interesting,  genial 
man  as  of  old,  and  an  earnest  advocate  of  church  unity,  to 
accomplish  which,  however,  all  other  churches  should  be  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  only  true  church, — the  little  Protestant  Epis- 
copal Church.    The  good  rector  was  sincere  and  meant  well. 

At  this  time  the  only  way  of  getting  to  ,'New  York,  was  by 
steamboat  or  stage,  but  the  New  York  and  New  Haven  Rail- 
road was  in  process  of  construction.  Just  to  the  east  of  the 
Greenwich  station  is  a  rocky  cut,  and  I  well  remember,  as  a 
boy  of  six,  sitting  high  up  on  the  rocks,  watching  the  workmen 
as  they  blasted  through.  More  than  seventy  years  have  rolled 
away  since  then,  and  yet  I  never  pass  that  spot  on  the  train 
without  recalling  the  little  lad  sitting  high  up  on  the  rocks, 
watching  the  blasting  and  the  busy  running  to  and  fro  of  the 
dirt  cars  on  their  temporary  tracks.  The  New  Haven  road 
gradually  developed  into  one  of  the  most  profitable  carriers 
of  human  freight  in  the  country.  Its  dividends  were  so  large 
that  in  order  not  to  pay  over  to  the  State  all  above  ten  per 
cent,  of  profit,  it  projected  all  manner  of  improvements,  in 
the  matter  especially  of  straightening  and  shortening  the 
tracks.  Its  bonds  and  stocks  were  gilt-edge  and  no  invest- 
ment was  more  to  be  desired  than  one  in  it. 

We  stayed  but  a  year  in  Greenwich,  the  school  being  profit- 
able and  successful,  I  believe,  but  the  lease  of  the  New  Ca- 
naan place  having  expired,  we  moved  to  the  old  home  for  a 
long  stay.  This  was  about  the  year  1846,  and  I  remember 
just  one  and  only  one  event  of  that  removal.  My  father 
bought  a  large  load  of  young  apple-trees  and  I  had  the  inex- 
pressible delight  of  going  along  with  the  one  who  drove,  who- 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  21 

ever  he  was.  He  has  faded  out  of  my  memory,  but  the  trees 
are  forever  green.  These  trees  were  set  out  in  a  good-sized 
lot  in  the  rear  of  the  Congregational  church  and  our  school 
house.  I  saw  them  develop  to  maturity.  Every,  spring  for 
years  I  watched  for  the  budding  of  the  apple  blossoms,  and 
then  for  the  ripening  of  the  apples. 

Who  can  adequately  describe  the  charm  of  an  apple  tree 
in  full  bloom,  or  the  cherry  tree,  either,  for  that  matter? 
Apples  flanked  our  house  on  the  right,  and  cherries  on  the 
left,  these  latter  having  been  set  out  also  by  my  father.  In- 
deed on  every  side,  there  are  great  elms  and  maples  yet 
flourishing,  mute  evidences  of  the  good  work  of  the  long-stilled 
hand  that  placed  them  there.  It  has  been  said  that  he  who 
causes  two  blades  of  grass  to  grow  where  one  grew  before 
becomes  a  benefactor  of  his  race.  How  much  more  he  who 
makes  possible  great  century-living  trees,  lending  their  beauty 
to  the  landscape  for  generations,  and  others  that  give  every 
season,  not  only  their  beauty,  but  also  their  delicious  fruit. 
The  apple  orchard  is  still  there,  but  the  few  trees  remaining 
are  old,  decrepit,  gnarled,  with  few  apples  to  be  seen  as  the 
summer  and  autumn  come  around.  Many  years  after,  when 
we  were  living  in  another  house  and  the  old  place  was  in  the 
possession  of  the  distinguished  surgeon  Dr.  Willard  Parker, 
he  did  a  kindly  and  graceful  act.  Remembering  that  my 
father  planted  the  orchard,  he  gathered  a  bushel  of  the  finest 
apples  and  brought  them  to  us  as  a  gift.  A  little  thing,  you 
say.  Yes,  truly,  but  it  is  only  large  and  hospitable  minds  that 
do  these  gracious,  graceful  little  things.* 

With  the  exception  of  a  few  months'  sojourn  in  New  York 
City,  my  days  from  that  time,  1 846-1 857,  were  spent  in  New 
Canaan.  What  happy  days  they  were !  Unhappy  he  who 
cannot  recall  the  experiences  of  his  childhood  and  feel  the 


*In  his  time  Dr.  Parker  was  both  respected  and  beloved  by  the  towns- 
people and  yet  he  did  not  hesitate  to  rebuke  vigorously  if  occasion  demanded. 
An  old  resident  of  the  village,  who  was  a  most  disagreeable  grumbler,  com- 
plained to  the  doctor  about  the  unequal  distribution  of  wealth.  "Here  am 
I,"  he  said,  "worth  only  $5,000,  while  you,  Dr.  Parker,  are  worth  $200,000." 
"You  never  knew  me,"  quickly  replied  the  doctor,  "to  measure  the  worth 
of  any  man  in  this  town  by  his  money.  But  you  complain  that  I  am  worth 
$200,000,  while  you  are  worth  only  $5,000 — forty  times  more  than  you  are 
worth — I  will  tell  you  why  I  am  worth  forty  times  more  than  you — it  is 
because  I  am  worth  forty  such  men  as  you." 


22  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

glow  of  fond  recollections  and  the  half  sad  yet  sweet  regret 
that  such  joys  have  forever  passed  away.  Not  that  our 
youthful  days,  even  in  the  most  favored  cases,  are  unassociated 
with  many  trying  and  humiliating  things.  In  this  respect  na- 
ture is  very  kind  to  us.  We  speedily  forget  the  bad,  and  re- 
member only  the  good.  The  taunts  of  our  fellows,  the  dreary 
hours  of  work  along  perhaps  uncongenial  lines,  the  misunder- 
standings and  lack  of  sympathy,  all  these  kindly  Time  in 
great  part  effaces.  But  who  ever  forgets  the  romance  of 
youth?  Given  a  perfect  October  day  and  the  freedom  of  the 
fields  and  woods,  what  in  life  can  surpass  it?  The  bodily 
activities  are  in  unison,  so  that  one  experiences  not  only  a  per- 
fect physical  life,  but  the  spirits,  too,  are  acting  along  the 
high-water  mark.  We  roam  the  fields  and  the  woods,  climb 
to  the  topmost  branches  of  the  highest  trees  and  rejoice  in  the 
free,  wild  life  around — birds,  squirrels,  rabbits,  and  if  we 
find  a  woodchuck's  hole,  what  excitement  in  smoking  the  fel- 
low out !  It  must  be  admitted  that  youth  in  its  thoughtlessness 
is  oft  times  cruel,  and  the  average  boy  is  the  enemy,  rather 
than  the  friend,  of  these  companions  of  the  woods.  Barring 
these  defects,  boy  life  is  pretty  straightforward  and  honest. 
It  is  only  in  after  life  that  the  art  of  dissimulation  and  con- 
cealment is  acquired. 


CHAPTER  II 

ABOVE  my  desk  in  my  house  in  Flushing  hang  three 
pictures  which  are  very  dear  to  my  heart.  The  first  is 
of  my  grandfather's  house  in  Ridgefield;  the  second  of 
my  father's  house  and  school  in  New  Canaan  in  the  late  for- 
ties, and  the  third  of  the  same  house  in  the  early  fifties  of  the 
past  century.  The  picture  here  represented  is  the  earlier  of 
the  two.  New  Canaan  people  will  all  recognize  the  dwelling 
house,  lately  occupied  by  the  late  Reverend  Doctor  Grosvenor, 
formerly  Dean  of  St.  John's  Cathedral.  Before  that  it  was 
for  many  years  the  residence  of  Doctor  Willard  Parker,  of 
whom  I  have  spoken.  The  school-house  and  the  connecting 
part  are  beyond  the  remembrance  of  the  present  generation, 
and  I  myself  have  but  a  faint  recollection  of  the  place  with 
its  picket  fence  and  the  old-fashioned  coach  which  brought 
the  boys  of  my  father's  school  from  the  steamboat  landing  in 
Norwalk  or  Stamford  before  the  days  of  the  New  Haven 
Railroad.  The  school  as  here  seen  was  called  the  "New 
Canaan  Seminary."  Later  my  father  changed  it  to  the  less 
high-sounding  title  of  "Boarding  School  for  Boys,"  and  later 
still,  because  of  the  two  churches,  one  on  either  side,  it  arose 
to  the  dignity  of  "Church-Hill  Institute."  What  a  view  we 
had  from  what  was  termed  the  "Green"  in  front  of  the  school- 
house.  The  trees  did  not  at  the  time  obstruct  the  vision.  The 
Sound  and  the  Long  Island  shore  were  distinctly  visible  for  a 
long  stretch,  and  I  remember  to  have  heard  one  of  our  house- 
hold say  that,  when  the  steamboat  Lexington  burned  in  mid- 
winter with  such  terrible  loss  of  life,  the  conflagration  was 
distinctly  visible.  The  New  Canaan  of  that  time  was  not  the 
New  Canaan  of  to-day,  yet  the  village  proper  was  in  general 
effect  very  much  the  same.  The  greatest  change  is  in  the 
country  around.  Where  the  boys  roamed  is  now  in  many 
places  restricted  ground.  So  many  fine  houses  have  gone  up 
where  once  were  sterile  farms,  and  smart  automobiles  have 
replaced  the  one-horse  shay. 

We  had  a  man  of  all  work,  named  Patrick,  a  horse  named 
Peter,  and  a  cow  who  was  simply  "Boss."     I  remember  Pat- 

23 


24  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

rick  as  a  faithful  man.  We  became  great  friends,  and  noth- 
ing pleased  me  better  than  to  be  with  him  when  he  worked, 
and  especially  to  go  to  the  barn  and  chat  with  him  while  he 
curried  and  fed  the  horse  and  milked  the  cow.  Evidently  he 
was  but  a  young  fellow,  but  I  think  of  him  as  a  mature  man. 
I  have  often  wondered  what  ever  became  of  him.  For  Peter, 
the  horse,  I  entertained  a  real  affection,  and  when  Patrick  left 
us,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  care  for  the  horse.  I  recall  the  genuine 
interest  I  felt  in  doing  this,  and  because  of  this  care  I  was 
given  special  liberty  with  him.  He  was  at  his  best  under  the 
saddle,  and  many  a  glorious  ride  did  I  have  along  the  roads 
over  the  hills  of  that  sightly  region,  and  the  equestrian  famili- 
arity gained  then  stood  me  in  good  stead  years  after  in  my 
army  life. 

In  addition  to  the  care  of  the  horse,  when  we  had  no  hired 
man,  I  even  fed  the  pigs.  But  the  most  trying  thing  that  I 
had  to  do  was  to  get  up  early,  on  cold  winter  mornings,  to 
sweep  the  schoolroom  and  to  make  the  fire  in  the  big  stove. 
It  was  necessary  to  get  out  of  my  warm  bed  long  before  day- 
light and  I  recall  how  I  inwardly  rebelled  against  the  stern 
necessity.  I  did  this  for  only  one  winter,  when  much  to  my 
relief  other  arrangements  were  made. 

One  of  the  boys  in  the  school  at  this  time  was  a  psycho- 
logical study.  His  name  was  Charlie  Goin,  and  if  submission 
and  good  nature  were  ever  carried  to  greater  extremes  than 
by  him,  I  have  yet  to  know  it.  Charlie  was  the  butt  of  the 
school.  He  was  long  and  lean,  with  sharp  features,  red  eyes 
and  moist  nose.  He  was  obedient  to  the  whims  of  anyone 
who  had  the  notion  to  boss  him,  and  he  seldom  balked.  Now 
Charlie  took  quite  a  fancy  to  me,  perhaps  because  I  was  the 
son  of  the  autocrat  of  the  school  and  was  endowed  with  special 
privileges.  One  of  these  privileges  was  that  of  getting  out  of 
bed  long  before  dawn,  with  the  thermometer  at  zero,  to  sweep 
the  schoolroom  and  build  the  fire  in  the  big  stove,  as  I  have 
said.  What  peculiarity  of  ratiocination  prompted  Charlie  to 
covet  this  job  I  never  divined.  True  it  was,  however,  that  he 
was  never  happier  than  when  I  graciously  allowed  him  to  get 
up  and  help  me  in  this  work.  He  was  always  ready  and  on 
time  and  on  the  principle  of  the  willing  horse,  I  let  him  do 
much  of  it.    He  enjoyed  it,  and  so  my  conscience  acquitted  me; 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  25 

but  in  the  light  of  a  better-regulated  conscience  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  I  carried  things  with  too  high  a  hand.  I  said  to 
him  one  morning,  "Charlie,  you  get  up  and  make  the  fire, 
and  I  will  come  down  later."  But  even  the  submissive  Charlie 
seemed  to  think  that  this  was  going  too  far,  and  he  demurred. 
However,  he  was  quickly  brought  to  terms  when  I  replied, 
"Very  well,  then,  you  can't  get  up  any  more  in  the  morning 
and  help  me  at  all." 

I  wonder  what  ever  became  of  Charlie  Goin?  It  is  three- 
score years  and  more  since  I  last  saw  him.  His  school  days 
were  then  over.  He  was  working  in  a  cooper's  shop  on  the 
East  side  in  lower  New  York.  In  school  he  had  been  a  boy 
of  strange  habits  and  queer  little  tricks;  but  at  this  time  I 
noted  a  new  peculiarity.  Between  every  sentence,  as  he  told 
of  what  fine  work  he  was  doing  and  of  his  hopes  for  the 
future,  he  would  punctuate  his  remarks  by  spitting  expressively 
through  his  teeth,  with  an  uncanny  dexterity  as  to  range  and 
accuracy  of  aim  that  would  have  won  him  the  admiration  and 
envy  of  his  schoolmates  in  the  old  days. 

The  method  of  teaching  and  the  management  of  boys  dif- 
fered greatly  in  that  period  from  those  of  the  present  time. 
They  would  now  be  called  little  less  than  crude  and  uncouth, 
and  yet  they  served  their  purpose,  for  many  of  the  boys,  if 
not  the  majority,  went  from  my  father's  tutelage  into  business 
and  became  successful  men.  This  was  illustrated  at  a  dinner 
given  by  the  old  pupils  to  their  old  teacher,  years  after,  when 
he  was  on  the  brink  of  the  grave.  In  the  year  1886,  twenty- 
five  years  after  my  father  had  given  up  his  school,  one  of  the 
former  pupils,  by  name  Marvin  Pearsall,  met  me  one  day  on 
the  street,  and  said  that  a  number  of  them  would  like  to  give 
a  complimentary  dinner  to  their  old  teacher,  who  was  then 
seventy-five  years  of  age  and  in  feeble  health.  This  invita- 
tion pleased  my  father  very  much,  and  it  was  accepted,  and 
the  dinner  was  given  at  Mazzetti's,  where  some  forty  of  his 
old  boys  met  to  do  him  honor.  It  was  an  unusual  and  memo- 
rable occasion.  Many  years  had  elapsed  since  those  men,  as 
boys,  had  met  together,  and  few  of  them  had  seen  their  for- 
mer teacher  again  until  this  night.  They  were  no  longer 
young.  Their  ages  ranged  from  forty  to  fifty  or  thereabouts. 
Some  had  been  eminently  successful  as  men  of  affairs,  and  as 


26  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

the  world  measures  success,  while  few,  if  any,  could  be  counted 
failures.  All  of  them  had,  of  course,  grown  out  of  their 
teacher's  recollection,  but  as  one  by  one  they  came  forward 
and  were  introduced  by  their  last  name,  in  no  instance  did  he 
hesitate  a  moment  in  calling  them  by  their  first  name,  George, 
Tom,  Harry,  as  the  case  might  be.  Good  fellowship  reigned. 
In  a  playful  spirit  hands  were  raised  as  of  old,  and,  "Mr. 
Rockwell,  may  I  go  out?"  or  "Mr.  Rockwell,  John  is  tick- 
ling me,  etc."  Warm  and  sincere  tributes  to  my  father's 
faithfulness  and  efficiency  as  teacher  and  guardian  were  not 
wanting,  and  my  mother,  too,  although  absent,  was  praised 
with  many  expressions  of  affectionate  remembrance. 

She  had  ministered  to  them  in  their  hours  of  pain,  sym- 
pathized with  them  in  their  boyish  griefs,  and,  on  occasion, 
tactfully  stood  between  them  and  punishment,  even  though 
deserved. 

The  old  establishment  consisted  of  a  dwelling  house,  a 
large  old-fashioned  square  building,  and  the  schoolhouse  with 
a  steeple  or  cupola,  and  these  two  were  joined  together  by  a 
long  two-story  connection.  The  house  had  a  long  wide  hall 
running  through  the  centre,  with  spacious  rooms  on  either 
side.  The  second  floor  was  like  unto  it,  and  only  when  the 
school  was  filled  to  overflowing  were  any  of  the  boys  brought 
into  the  main  house  to  sleep.  The  schoolhouse  on  the  first 
floor  was  made  up  of  a  large  room  for  study  and  recitation, 
a  wash-room,  and  at  the  rear  a  good-sized  room  with  boxes 
or  little  cupboards  ranged  about  the  walls.  Each  boy  had 
a  box  in  which  he  kept  his  extra  boots,  his  slippers,  blacking 
and  brush,  and  whatever  else  pleased  him.  In  the  vacation 
time  of  October  when  all  the  boys  had  gone  to  their  homes 
for  the  month,  my  cousin  Steve  Comstock  and  I  were  accus- 
tomed to  keep  in  these  boxes  nuts  that  we  had  gathered.  The 
nuts  seemed  to  disappear  with  unnatural  rapidity,  and  we 
wondered  who  could  be  the  culprit.  One  morning  when  at 
breakfast,  I  heard  my  name  called  in  great  excitement.  Rush- 
ing out  I  found  Steve  with  a  huge  rat  held  tight  in  both  hands 
with  the  blood  dripping  down.  Suddenly  opening  the  door, 
he  had  espied  this  rat  and  without  hesitation  grabbed  him 
about  the  middle,  whereupon  the  rat  sank  his  sharp  teeth  deep 
into  the  flesh.     Nothing,  however,  could  loosen  the  grip  of 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  27 

the  indignant  proprietor  of  the  stolen  nuts,  and  the  rat  was 
crushed  under  the  feet  of  his  captor. 

In  the  wash-room  each  boy  had  his  bowl  and  stand  where 
he  kept  all  utensils  of  the  toilet,  and  was  expected  to  wash 
himself  and  brush  his  hair  before  each  meal.  Saturday  even- 
ing occurred  the  general  and  more  thorough  wash-up,  and  at 
this  function  my  father  presided.  Each  boy  was  passed  in 
review  to  be  pronounced  clean,  or  the  reverse,  and  I  well 
remember  that  the  localities  of  special  interest  were  the  ears. 
These  were  examined  thoroughly  and  I  can  hear  my  father 
say,  "John,  go  back  and  clean  your  ears."  In  the  school- 
room each  boy  had  his  individual  desk  with  its  revolving 
seat,  the  iron  frame  being  screwed  to  the  floor.  In  the  desks 
we  kept  our  books,  and  almost  everything  else  under  the  sun. 
It  required  the  utmost  diligence  on  the  teacher's  part  to  keep 
these  desks  in  any  semblance  of  order.  To  this  end  there 
was  every  little  while  a  general  inspection,  which  resulted  in  a 
big  pile  of  trash,  such  as  only  boys  can  find  any  interest  in 
collecting.  The  dining-room  and  kitchen  occupied  the  first 
floor  of  the  long  connecting  link  between  the  two  houses. 
Here  some  thirty-five  boys  were  seated  on  either  side  of  a 
long  table,  while  my  father  at  one  end  served  the  food,  and 
my  mother  at  the  other  end,  the  tea  or  coffee. 

I  can  appreciate  now  what  a  task  it  was  to  serve  twoscore 
hungry  boys.  Each  boy  was  in  turn  asked  what  he  would 
have,  and  the  answer  would  be  something  like  this,  "Meat, 
potato  and  gravy,  if  you  please" — or  "meat,  potato,  and 
turnips  and  gravy,"  or  "meat,  potatoes,  turnips  and  no  gravy," 
as  the  case  might  be.  Butter,  bread  and  often  cheese  were 
on  the  table,  and  these  were  passed  from  boy  to  boy  on  re- 
quest. 

The  boys  were  kept  in  pretty  good  order,  for  my  father 
was  an  excellent  disciplinarian,  but  they  would  have  their  fun. 
One  boy  was  named  Edward  Pease,  and  with  great  gravity  of 
countenance  another  boy  would  say,  'I  will  thank  you  for  the 
cheese,  Edward  Pease,  if  you  please."  This  afforded  so 
much  amusement  and  chuckling  that  it  had  to  be  interdicted, 
but  always  new  ways  were  found  here  and  there.  We  had 
pancakes,  too.  Not  daintily  served,  one  at  a  time,  just  off 
the  griddle.     They  were  brought  in  a  great  pile  a  foot  high, 


28  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

more  or  less,  and  the  way  those  cakes  disappeared  was  mar- 
vellous. Bob  Leonard  boasted  of  having  eaten  nineteen, 
which  beat  the  record.  Evidently  they  were  kept  on  no  star- 
vation diet,  even  if  the  food  was  not  quite  so  dainty  as  that 
served  at  Delmonico's.  All  boys  are  fond  of  sweets,  and  a 
little  trick  was  played  on  my  mother.  In  pouring  tea  or 
coffee  for  the  boys,  her  habit  was  to  put  in  the  sugar  first  and 
then  pour  the  tea.  As  soon  as  the  sugar  was  in,  the  watchful 
boy,  for  whom  the  cup  was  intended,  would  say,  "Only  half 
a  cup,  Mrs.  Rockwell."  The  tea  was,  of  course,  twice  as 
sweet  as  ordinarily,  and  he  would  again  work  the  trick,  for 
the  boys  were  allowed  two  cups  if  they  wished  it.  This  eva- 
sion was,  however,  soon  discovered  and  discountenanced.  If 
a  boy  asked  for  only  half  a  cup,  no  more  was  forthcoming. 

The  school  terms  were  five  months  each,  the  vacation 
months  being  April  and  October,  and  the  tuition,  as  I  first  re- 
member, was  $180  a  year,  or  $90  a  term.  By  steps  this  was 
finally  increased  to  $250  a  year,  and  it  must  be  remembered 
that  this  amount  included  board,  tuition,  washing  and  mend- 
ing. It  seems  incredibly  low  as  measured  by  present-day 
charges,  and  yet  all  school  bills  were  paid  and  some  money 
saved.  During  one  of  the  most  prosperous  years,  I  remem- 
ber my  father  saying  that  he  had  saved  $2,000.  But  the  price 
of  everything  was  low.  Servants,  for  example,  $6.00  a  month, 
and  other  things  in  proportion.  And  then  again,  we  had  our 
little  farm  of  seven  acres,  and  raised  not  a  few  things  for 
home  consumption.  For  this  home  my  father  paid  $6,000. 
When  he  sold  it  in  186 1,  to  a  Mr.  Gilder,  a  connection  of  the 
poet,  he  realized  about  $1,500  profit.  A  few  years  later  Mr. 
Gilder  sold  the  property  to  Dr.  Willard  Parker  for  some 
$12,000. 

Both  the  coming  and  the  going  of  the  boys  were  great  days. 
As  the  time  when  the  school  was  to  close  drew  near,  every- 
body was  in  an  excited  and  expectant  state  of  mind.  The 
month  at  home  and  freedom  from  study  seemed  a  long  time, 
and  I  can  yet  hear  the  earnest  discussions  carried  on  between 
various  ones  as  to  where  they  would  meet  and  what  they  would 
do.  Occasionally  some  boy  friend  of  mine  would  invite  me  to 
spend  a  few  days  at  his  home.  In  this  way  I  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  a  little  of  life  beyond  the  boundaries  of  a 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  29 

country  village,  in  such  places  as  New  York,  Brooklyn  and 
New  Haven.  A  boy  named  Charlie  Owen  was  a  very  in- 
timate friend,  and  we  were  very  fond  of  each  other.  He  was 
delicately  nurtured,  finely  fibred,  and  distinctly  clean  in  word 
and  action.  His  father,  Thomas  Owen,  was  a  merchant  in 
South  Street,  New  York,  and  his  business  entirely  with  Cuba. 
When  the  Cuban  planters  wished  to  send  their  sons  to  this 
country  Mr.  Owens  was  often  consulted,  and  through  his 
recommendation  a  good  many  Cuban  boys  came  to  our  school. 
Two  boys  especially  I  remember,  Emilio  and  Antonio  Luaces. 
In  after  years  they  studied  medicine,  graduating  from  the 
Bellevue  Hospital  Medical  College.  Subsequently  in  the 
long-drawn-out  Cuban  Rebellion,  these  two  became  officers 
and  one  of  them  a  general.  Antonio,  the  younger,  I  remem- 
ber as  an  exceedingly  handsome  fellow.  His  fate  was  sad. 
Taken  prisoner  by  the  Spaniards,  he  was  ruthlessly  executed. 
My  friend  Owen  lived  in  Henry  Street,  which,  with  East 
Broadway  and  other  streets  in  the  Seventh  Ward,  was  then 
very  respectable.  It  was,  however,  beginning  to  wane.  Some 
of  the  old  residents  had  already  migrated  further  uptown, 
and  the  transition  from  staid  respectability,  and  even  fashion 
and  social  ambition,  to  its  present  low  state  had  fairly  begun. 
When  I  think  of  the  quiet,  old-fashioned  charm  in  that  sec- 
tion of  the  city  in  those  far-away  days,  and  contrast  it  with 
what  it  is  now,  the  thought  is  saddening.  Not  a  few  of  my 
father's  pupils  came  from  this  section,  from  good  substantial 
families.  Going  to  their  businesses,  the  men  would  take  the 
lumbering  omnibuses  which  by  devious  routes  transported 
them  to  their  offices  in  Front,  South  and  Wall  Streets,  or 
wherever  they  might  be  in  the  lower  downtown  district. 
Owen  and  I  would  wander  about  the  streets  of  that  part  of 
the  city.  In  the  afternoon,  we  often  enjoyed  a  matinee  per- 
formance at  Barnum's  old  Museum,  corner  of  Broadway  and 
Ann  Street,  and  we  especially  enjoyed  Christy's  Minstrels, 
then  all  the  rage. 

In  this  reference  to  Barnum's  Museum,  I  am  reminded  that 
on  my  first  visit  to  this  famous  resort  I  was  greatly  dis- 
appointed not  to  see  Mr.  Barnum,  and  inquired  of  my  father 
where  he  was.  As  we  were  about  to  leave,  we  saw  the  famil- 
iar face  of  the  great  showman,  when  my  father  introduced 


3o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

me,  adding  that  I  had  inquired  several  times  for  Mr.  Barnum 
and  seemed  more  interested  in  him  than  in  his  curiosities. 
Whereupon  Mr.  Barnum  patted  me  on  the  shoulder  and  said, 
"That's  right,  my  lad.  You  think  I  am  the  greatest  curiosity 
in  the  lot." 

When  the  vacation  ended  and  it  was  time  for  the  boys  to 
come  back,  the  air  was  equally  vibrant  with  excitement  and 
expectation.  Two  or  three  large  stages  brought  the  boys  from 
the  station  at  Darien.  Out  they  would  scramble  and  seem 
about  as  pleased  to  get  back  as  they  had  been  to  go.  They 
would  be  assigned  to  their  rooms,  room-mates  chosen,  and 
soon  the  wheels  of  school  life  were  revolving  as  smoothly  as 
of  old. 

No  more  delightful  time  of  my  life  can  I  recall  than  these 
vacation  months  of  April  and  October,  especially  the  latter. 
October  was  the  nutting  month,  and  it  was  our  ambition  to 
secure  an  ample  supply  of  both  hickory  nuts  and  chestnuts  for 
the  winter.  Great  as  was  our  appetite  for  these  toothsome  tree 
fruits,  the  greatest  joy  was  in  the  search  for  them,  and 
our  tramps  over  field  and  through  wood,  climbing  the  high 
trees,  shaking  them,  and  gathering  the  nuts  in  great  heaps, 
putting  them  in  bag  and  basket,  and  then  trudging  home,  are 
never-to-be-forgotten  incidents.  We  would  spread  the  nuts 
on  the  roof  to  dry,  and  the  sense  of  possession  as  we  looked 
them  over  was  very  gratifying. 

I  am  reminded  here  of  a  pretty  episode  relating  to  my 
father  and  two  of  my  own  sons.  One  October  the  two  boys 
went  on  their  annual  fall  trip  to  New  Canaan  to  get  nuts  from 
the  trees  on  their  grandfather's  farm.  It  so  happened  that 
it  had  been  a  bad  season  and  there  were  no  nuts.  Their 
grandfather  hated  to  have  the  boys  disappointed  and  so  very 
early  in  the  morning  before  they  were  up,  he  took  a  pailful 
of  nuts  and  scattered  them  broadcast  under  one  of  the  trees 
not  far  from  the  house.  The  boys  got  up  eager  for  their  quest 
and  rushed  out.  What  a  delight !  The  ground  was  covered 
with  nuts,  which  they  joyously  gathered,  doubting  nothing. 
They  returned  home  laden  with  their  precious  find  and  never 
knew  of  this  affectionate  kindly  deception  until  told  of  it  years 
after.  How  many  grandfathers  would  have  been  so  thought- 
ful? 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  31 

Comstock's  pond,  some  two  and  a  half  miles  to  the  north, 
was  one  of  our  loved  resorts.  Starting  in  the  morning  with 
Steve,  my  cousin,  and  sometimes  with  others,  away  we  would 
go.  Just  to  be  alive  and  out  in  the  open  was  enough.  Along 
the  so-called  ridge,  then  with  few  habitations,  but  now  lined 
with  the  beautiful  residences  of  the  city  people,  we  would 
trudge.  At  Hanford  Davenport  we  turned  to  the  left,  and 
every  foot  of  ground  traversed  became  in  time  familiar 
ground.  As  we  neared  the  pond  we  became  more  and  more 
eager,  and  when  at  last  we  arrived  at  the  top  of  the  long  hill, 
where  we  first  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  pond,  away  we  went 
at  a  run.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  never  walked  down  that 
hill.  Our  walking  was  reserved  for  the  return  trip,  when 
tired,  yet  satisfied  and  happy,  we  pushed  homeward.  There 
was  an  island  or  two  in  the  pond,  and  in  order  to  get  to  them 
we  hired  an  old  tub  of  a  boat  for  sixpence.  With  our  lunch 
and  some  potatoes  which  we  would  bake  in  a  roaring  fire, 
and  an  appetite  that  was  never  wanting,  who  could  ask  for 
more? 

In  boyhood  and  in  manhood  friendships  are  determined  not 
more  perhaps  by  similarity  of  disposition  and  common  likes 
and  dislikes  than  by  propinquity  and  accidental  association. 
Among  the  boys  of  the  school  there  were  a  number  with  whom 
I  became  very  friendly,  but  association  with  them  was  more 
or  less  transient;  but  with  my  cousin  the  situation  was  very 
different.  We  were  the  same  age,  and  from  our  sixth  to  six- 
teenth years  we  were  constantly  together.  Hardly  a  day 
passed  without  our  seeing  each  other.  Our  houses  were 
hardly  more  than  a  stone's  throw  apart,  and  we  frequently 
slept  together  either  at  the  one  house  or  the  other.  We  were 
congenial  in  that  we  both  loved  to  play,  to  tramp  the  fields  and 
woods,  and  to  fish  the  streams.  In  all  adventuresome  at- 
tempts, however,  Steve  was  without  a  rival.  He  could  throw 
a  stone  farther  and  more  accurately  than  any  of  the  other 
boys.  He  was  a  venturesome  swimmer.  And  when  winter 
came  he  was  always  the  first  boy  on  the  hill  in  the  morning 
with  his  sled,  and  the  last  to  leave  it  at  night.  He  was  a 
robust  boy,  with  a  constitution  much  hardier  than  mine;  and 
yet  he  has  been  dead  some  years,  while  I  live  on,  in  a  fair 
degree  of  health. 


32  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

As  boys,  Steve  and  I  had  many  escapades,  and  running 
away  from  home  was  one  of  them.  Inquiring  of  my  own  boys, 
I  find  that  this  idea  never  suggested  itself.  It  would  seem  as 
if  the  country  lad  was  more  inclined  to  this  sort  of  thing  than 
the  city  bred.  This  may  be  due  not  only  to  the  freer  life  led 
in  the  country,  its  greater  amplitude  of  vision  leading  to  ad- 
venture, but  to  less  varied  and  interesting  social  relations. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  we  not  infrequently  talked  of  this  matter, 
and  on  several  occasions  took  steps  to  put  it  into  execution. 
Our  first  vision  of  freedom  was  that  of  hunters.  There  was 
an  old  shotgun  in  our  garret,  and  we  conceived  the  delectable 
idea  of  starting  for  the  wilds,  wherever  they  were,  and  sub- 
sisting mainly  on  the  proceeds  of  the  chase.  So  we  burnished 
up  the  gun  and  bought  a  pound  of  powder  and  a  quantity  of 
shot.  We  found  an  old  powderhorn,  and  in  the  evening 
went  to  my  room  with  a  lighted  candle,  placed  it  on  the  soft, 
well-rounded  feather  bed — about  as  insecure  a  foundation 
for  a  candlestick  as  could  well  be  found — and  within  a  foot 
of  the  flame  proceeded  to  fill  our  powderhorn.  Could  any 
boy  do  a  more  senseless  thing  than  this?  It  is  a  wonder  that 
we  were  not  both  blown  up,  and  that  we  were  not  is  strong 
evidence  of  a  special  Providence  that  protects  the  weak,  fool- 
ish, and  ignorant. 

We  were  to  start  on  our  adventure  about  midnight,  going 
due  north,  where,  after  a  few  days'  journey,  we  expected  to 
find  a  far  more  sparsely  settled  region.  Long  before  mid- 
night the  wind  began  to  rise,  the  sky  darkened,  the  moon  was 
hidden.  Conditions  had  changed  and  our  courage  began  to 
ooze  out  at  our  finger  ends.  At  least  mine  did.  As  before 
remarked,  Steve  was  always  more  adventurous  than  I.  It  was 
I,  therefore,  who  first  called  attention  to  the  unfavorable  con- 
dition of  the  weather.  To  this  Steve  assented,  but  thought 
we  ought  to  go.  "It's  awful  dark,"  I  suggested,  "and  it's  go- 
ing to  rain."  "Yes,"  he  assented,  "it  is  dark,  and  perhaps  it 
will  rain."  He  was  weakening,  too,  and  we  both  agreed  that 
for  the  time  being  it  was  better  to  call  the  adventure  off. 
There  must  be  no  telltale  evidences,  however,  of  our  attempt. 
So  we  arose,  took  our  powderhorn,  and  scattered  our  powder 
among  the  growing  cabbages  in  the  garden,  and  disposed  of 
the  shot  elsewhere. 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  33 

Another  attempt,  although  failing  miserably,  had  the  merit 
or  demerit  of  advancing  a  step  further.  This  time  we  selected 
the  rolling  deep  for  our  adventure.  Our  idea  was  to  take 
the  train  at  Norwalk  for  Boston,  where  we  would  ship  as 
able-bodied  sailors  on  some  merchant  vessel.  I  had  in  my 
possession  two  dollars  in  silver,  which  I  regret  to  say  I  had 
purloined  from  time  to  time  from  the  drawer  where  my 
mother  kept  her  loose  change.  It  took  a  little  time  to  do  this, 
because  it  would  not  be  safe  to  take  such  an  amount  at  once 
for  fear  of  detection.  Whether  my  companion  contributed 
anything  to  the  common  pool,  I  do  not  remember,  but  two 
dollars  seemed  to  be  the  minimum  amount  necessary  to  get 
to  Boston.  It  was  arranged  that  I  was  to  get  permission  to 
stay  with  Steve  that  night,  while  he  would  ask  to  stay  with 
me.  In  this  way  neither  would  be  missed  until  some  time  the 
next  day,  which  would  find  us  in  Boston.  In  the  meantime  we 
had  taken  our  best  suits,  throwing  them  out  of  our  windows 
after  dark,  and  then  had  hidden  them  in  holes  in  the  broad 
stone  fence  on  my  uncle's  place,  where  we  had  agreed  to  meet. 
Donning  the  new,  leaving  the  old,  we  started  on  our  way  with 
no  regrets  or  misgivings.  On  arriving  at  the  South  Norwalk 
Station,  we  found  there  would  be  no  train  for  the  East  until 
the  next  morning.  Here  was  a  dilemma,  and  after  consulta- 
tion we  decided  to  pass  the  night  in  an  old  barn  nearby;  but 
the  barking  of  a  dog  frightened  us  away.  Our  enthusiasm 
again  abated  and  after  still  further  consultation,  we  decided 
to  return  home.  I  remember  what  a  beautiful  night  it  was. 
The  moon  was  at  its  full  and  we  were  in  decidely  good  spirits, 
since  our  faces  were  homeward  turned,  and  if  we  had  failed 
to  carry  out  our  intentions  we  were  rather  exultant  in  doing 
something  out  of  the  ordinary.  When  about  half  way  home, 
hearing  men's  voices  coming  from  the  opposite  direction,  we 
jumped  over  a  stone  fence,  hiding  behind  it  until  the  strangers 
had  passed.  After  all  these  years  I  can  place  almost  the 
exact  spot,  and  never  pass  it  without  recalling  the  event.  We 
reached  home  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  so  tired  that 
we  could  hardly  move. 

I  cannot  but  linger  here  to  note  the  temperamental  differ- 
ences in  families.  Of  the  sons  of  my  uncle,  not  one  seemed 
to  pattern  after  the  other.    The  elder  was  a  cautious,  careful 


34  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

man  of  business.  His  chief  interest  was  in  making  money, 
and  he  seemed  to  desire  money  not  so  much  for  present  uses 
and  comforts,  as  for  accumulation.  I  do  not  say  he  was  mean, 
for  he  did  many  generous  things  in  after  life  with  his  money; 
but  in  the  making  of  his  money  he  was  distressingly  eco- 
nomical. On  the  contrary,  his  brother  had  absolutely  no  idea 
of  economy.  He  was  deficient  in  what  Emerson  calls  "the 
simplest  expedient  of  private  prudence."  No  money  could 
cling  to  his  hands.  He  wanted,  and  would  always  have,  the 
best,  and  spent  money  with  lack  of  proper  forethought  that 
sadly  interfered  with  his  expectations  of  wealth.  A  supreme 
optimism  possessed  him,  while  I  gravitated  to  the  other  ex- 
treme. And  yet  he  was  endowed  with  a  certain  thoughtful- 
ness.  He  became,  not  a  great  reader,  but  when  he  did  read 
he  liked  solid  and  substantial  food.  Fiction  he  knew  little  of 
and  cared  little  for,  but  of  Matthew  Arnold,  Huxley,  and 
writers  of  that  type  he  never  tired.  And  so  in  after  life  as 
we  saw  each  other  occasionally,  we  were  still  congenial  because 
we  could  find  a  common  interest  along  some  lines  of  bookish 
tendencies  and  old  memories. 


CHAPTER  III 

OLD  Doctor  Noyes  was  our  family  physician.  He  had  in- 
deed been  the  family  physician  of  my  grandfather  Corn- 
stock  for  many  years  and  presided  at  the  birth  of  my 
mother.  My  grandfather  paid  him  not  by  the  visit,  but  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  year,  sick  or  well.  He  went  around  on  horseback 
with  his  old-fashioned  medicine  cases  balanced  behind  across 
his  horse's  back.  I  can  see  the  kindly  old  doctor  now  as  he  rides 
up  to  the  house,  hitches  his  horse,  and  with  saddlebags  over 
his  arm  makes  his  way  to  the  front  door.  The  sick  boy, 
whoever  he  was,  dreaded  the  doctor's  visit,  for  he  knew 
that  it  meant  a  stiff  dose  of  something  dreadful.  Unlike  the 
doctor  of  to-day,  he  never  was  in  a  hurry.  Every  movement 
was  deliberate  and  he  had  time  to  talk  over  the  news  of  the 
day.  If  castor  oil  was  called  for  it  was  given  with  little  at- 
tempt at  disguise,  and  as  a  small  boy  I  see  myself  crying  and 
hesitating  over  the  dose,  and  my  father  standing  over  me, 
half  amused  and  half  angry  at  my  hesitation.  Ipecac  was  an 
awful  dose !  It  was  mixed  in  cold  water  and  a  more  atrocious 
tasting  substance  never  insulted  a  boy's  palate.  Powdered 
rhubarb  was  bad  enough,  but  not  to  be  compared  with  the 
other  indescribable  mixture.  The  most  interesting  perform- 
ance, however,  was  the  making  of  pills.  Blue  pill  was  called 
blue  mass,  and  it  came  literally  in  a  mass,  and  from  it  the 
doctor  would  take  piece  after  piece  and  roll  them  into  little 
pills,  between  thumb  and  first  finger. 

Dr.  Richards  was  the  rival  doctor,  and  I  recall  that  the  two 
did  not  love  each  other  any  too  well.  Dr.  Richards  was  the 
queerest  man  of  the  town.  He  had  but  one  eye  and  talked  in 
a  high  falsetto  tone,  which  was  very  amusing  and  frequently 
imitated.  Whenever  he  saw  a  stone  in  the  middle  of  the 
street  he  would  invariably  and  at  considerable  inconvenience 
dismount  and  throw  it  to  one  side,  and  so  one  of  the  favorite 
amusements  of  the  boys  was  to  place  stones  at  different 
points  and  watch  him  get  off  his  horse  and  toss  them  aside. 
But  if  these  two  old  doctors  felt  some  antipathy  for  each 
other,  it  was  as  nothing  compared  with  their  contempt  and 

35 


36  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

dislike  of  young  Dr.  Roberts,  a  homeopath.  To  these  two 
a  homeopath  was  either  a  knave  or  a  fool.  He  could  be  con- 
signed to  no  halfway  place,  and  to  tell  the  truth  this  was  the 
opinion  of  the  profession  generally.  Intolerance  held  abso- 
lute sway.  Little  did  these  old  doctors  appreciate  the  fact 
that  they  were  blind  leaders  of  the  blind,  and  in  their  bungling 
attempts  they  often  did  far  more  harm  than  good  by  inter- 
fering with  Nature's  kindly  intent.  The  following  fact  bears 
on  this  point.  One  of  the  pupils,  a  boy  by  the  name  of  Daniel 
Smith,  had  lately  died.  It  was  probably  a  case  of  appendi- 
citis, name  then  unknown,  but  we  called  it  inflammation  of 
the  bowels.  It  was  suggested  that  the  disease  was  caused  by 
sliding  down  hill  "belly-whoppers,"  and  I  remember  that  for 
a  time  the  boys  were  afraid  of  that  time-honored  method  of 
coasting. 

Of  course  the  sick  boy  was  incessantly  drugged,  and  although 
he  might  not  have  lived,  yet  perhaps  gentler  and  better- 
directed  methods  would  have  had  better  results.  When  the 
next  boy  was  sick  my  mother  called  in  the  youthful  homeopath. 
He  expressed  some  surprise  when  my  mother  in  explanation 
said,  "Well,  doctor,  I  thought  you  might  let  the  patient  live." 

Soon  after  this  temporary  conversion  to  homeopathy,  my 
father  bought  a  case  of  homeopathic  pellets  for  home  treat- 
ment. A  younger  brother  got  at  them  one  day,  and  swallowed 
the  greater  part  of  the  contents  of  the  bottles.  Dr.  Roberts 
was  called  in  great  haste,  but  quieted  the  alarm  of  the  house- 
hold by  the  assurance  that  he  "guessed  they  wouldn't  hurt 
him." 

The  recollection  of  this  incident  recalls  one  like  unto  it, 
where  the  physician  was  of  the  other  school.  Our  genial 
friend,  Colonel  William  Pinckney,  was  given  a  prescription 
that  called  for  a  dose  of  a  teaspoonful  three  times  a  day.  In- 
stead he  took  it  all  at  once,  for  the  Colonel  was  an  odd  man 
in  some  ways.  His  wife,  when  she  saw  the  empty  bottle,  gave 
him  an  emetic  and  sent  for  the  family  physician.  The  emetic 
made  the  Colonel  very  sick  and  he  thought  he  was  about  to 
die.  When  the  doctor  arrived,  he  assured  the  family  that  the 
medicine  would  have  done  no  harm,  even  if  no  emetic  had 
been  given.  The  next  day  the  Colonel,  as  he  sat  on  the  piazza 
of  his  pleasant  home  overlooking  the  Hudson  at  Nyack,  re- 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  37 

marked  to  his  wife:  "If  I  had  died  from  the  effects  of  the 
medicine  I  took  yesterday,  the  most  appropriate  inscription 
for  my  tombstone  would  have  been,  'He  died  because  he  was 

a  d fool.'  " 

Oh !  the  delights  of  being  a  boy,  or  at  least  the  remembrance 
of  boyhood  days.  In  the  backward  glance  all  its  inconven- 
iences and  restrictions  inward  and  outward,  turmoils  and 
griefs,  are  forgotten  and  only  the  real  charm  that  attends 
the  happy  days  of  childhood  remains.  We  forget  the  evil  and 
distasteful  and  remember  only  the  good.  How  often  we  hear 
it  said  that  our  climate  is  changing.  Men  yet  young  will  say 
that  the  winters  of  to-day  are  not  as  the  winters  of  their  day 
a  score  of  years  ago.  Then  the  winters  were  longer  and  more 
severe,  the  snowfall  greater,  with  ice  and  skating  the  whole 
season  through.  They  are  mistaken.  The  seasons  have  not 
changed  in  any  great  degree,  since  many  years  before  their 
time.  Great  snowfalls  such  as  Whittier  writes  of  in  "Snow- 
bound," the  broad  ice  ponds  with  their  crowds  of  merry 
skaters,  the  delights  of  the  long  coasting  hills,  with  the  full 
moon  and  starry  heavens  above,  are  never  forgotten;  but  we 
do  forget  the  murky  days  with  wet  and  soggy  ground  that 
would  forbid  any  outdoor  fun  at  all  to  any  but  the  irrepres- 
sible boy.  In  retrospection  we  dwell  mostly  on  those  days 
which  greatly  impressed  us,  and  from  which  we  derived  the 
greatest  pleasure.  In  the  winter  of  1888  there  was  the  same 
refrain  that  our  climate  was  changing,  and  then  in  the  early 
spring  came  the  great  blizzard,  exceeding  in  severity  any  that 
had  occurred  for  years.  That  winter  everyone  remembers, 
but  who  can  recall  what  the  preceding  or  succeeding  winters 
were?  And  so  the  man  in  retrospection  remembers  not  the 
humdrum  things,  the  punishments  and  humiliations  of  school 
days,  but  only  the  free  day  in  the  fields  and  woods,  the  glorious 
swimming  pools,  the  day  he  went  fishing,  the  nutting  days,  and 
those  days  of  summer  or  spring  when  the  early  strawberries 
were  ripe  and  he  returned  home  from  his  day's  outing  with  a 
great  basket  of  the  luscious  fruit.  To  eat  them  was  well 
enough,  but  to  pick  them  was  the  real  pleasure.  We  all 
looked  forward  to  strawberry  time.  The  horse  was  harnessed 
to  the  old  wagon,  into  which  about  ten  boys  could  crowd,  and 
the  other  twenty  or  more  would  follow  on  behind,  or  even  go 


38  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

ahead,  for  the  horse  with  such  a  load  was  allowed  to  take  his 
time.  In  about  a  mile  ten  other  boys  would  take  the  place  of 
the  first  batch  and  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  mile  still  an- 
other ten.  Another  mile  would  bring  us  to  the  famous  wild 
strawberry  field,  where  we  wandered  at  will  and  when  the  time 
came  to  start  for  home,  few  baskets  or  pails  remained  unfilled. 
How  balmy  was  the  breeze,  how  genial  the  warmth  of  the 
sun !  There  were  birds  to  see  and  bees  busy  gathering  honey, 
and  not  infrequently  a  rabbit  crossed  our  path.  Occasionally 
we  saw  a  woodchuck.  A  woodchuck's  hole  was  a  great  find, 
and  if  any  boy  had  a  match,  the  first  thought  was  to  smoke  out 
the  animal.  There  was  a  stream  that  widened  and  deepened 
near  one  of  our  outing  places,  where  we  were  allowed  to  go 
in  for  a  swim  or  a  splash  on  our  way  home.  When  the  word 
was  given  by  the  teacher,  only  about  one  minute  was  required 
for  every  boy  to  get  rid  of  all  of  his  clothes  and  plunge  into 
the  water.  It  was  a  refreshment,  it  was  a  lark,  and  joy  un- 
speakable to  get  thus  near  to  Nature's  heart,  and  the  only 
drawback  was  that  we  had  to  come  out  so  soon.  On  rare 
occasions  when  we  could  have  our  own  way,  free  from  super- 
vision, an  hour,  even  longer,  was  all  too  short  a  time  for  this 
fine  fun. 

As  I  write,  a  fierce  snowstorm  is  raging,  as  if  to  confirm 
my  recent  assertion  that  our  climate  is  not  changing.  This  is 
the  second  blizzard  of  the  month.  How  beautiful  and  won- 
derful are  these  raging  elements !  Early  this  morning,  when 
the  storm  of  snow  was  just  beginning,  and  as  if  to  emphasize 
the  vagaries  of  Nature,  there  was  a  flash  of  lightning,  fol- 
lowed almost  immediately  by  the  roll  of  thunder.  Let  not 
the  coming  generation  be  disheartened.  There  is  for  them  in 
prospect  the  same  alternations  of  the  seasons  as  gave  zest  and 
cheer  to  their  forbears.  The  rain  and  sunshine,  forerunners 
of  the  fruits  of  the  season,  will  come  as  before,  and  the  soft 
snow  will  clothe  hill  and  valley  for  the  delectation  of  the  boy 
with  his  sled,  and  the  pond  will  be  covered  with  its  coating  of 
ice  as  often  as  of  old,  for  the  merry  skater. 

How  like  a  dream  it  all  seems,  the  child  life  and  the  boy 
life  of  those  first  years  of  human  existence.  Some  of  the 
boys  I  recall  but  dimly,  while  others  are  well  remembered. 
Not  long  ago   at  a  meeting  of  the   Military  Order   of  the 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  39 

Loyal  Legion,  I  came  across  one  of  these  old  boys.  He  was 
a  Colonel.  He  had  fought  in  the  Civil  War  and  had  been  one 
of  the  volunteers  for  the  forlorn  hope  in  the  proposed  storm- 
ing of  Port  Hudson.  He  had  served  also  in  Cuba  and  in  the 
Philippines.  Although  much  more  than  half  a  century  had 
elapsed  since  we  had  played  together  on  the  "Hill,"  I  had  in- 
stantly for  him  the  same  old  greeting  of  "Hello  Bob."  I  see 
my  father  behind  his  desk  on  the  platform  in  the  big  school- 
room calling  the  school  to  order.  Every  boy  must  read  in 
his  turn  a  verse  from  the  Bible.  What  a  labor  it  was  to  some 
of  them.  Peter  was  a  dull  boy  at  study,  although  lively 
enough  at  play.  I  can  hear  Peter  as  he  laboriously  spelled 
out  the  text,  following  each  word  with  his  finger.  The  verse 
was  "He  strained  at  a  gnat  and  swallowed  a  camel."  Peter 
read  it,  "He  strained  at  a  gate  and  swallowed  a  canal!" 

In  winter  the  schoolroom  was  heated  by  a  big  stove  which 
stood  in  the  center  of  the  room.  In  the  early  morning  the 
boys  would  gather  around  it  several  deep,  with  much  pushing 
and  shoving,  but  in  summer  happy  was  the  boy  whose  seat  was 
near  the  open  window,  where  he  could  get  the  first  breath  of 
air  that  stirred.  Those  were  golden  days.  I  can  even  now 
hear  the  buzz  of  the  flies,  the  hum  of  the  bees  and  the  chirp- 
ing of  the  birds,  and  if  it  were  not  that  Whately  denies  that 
there  can  be  any  definite  conception  of  smell,  I  should  say,  too, 
that  the  odors  wafted  into  the  open  window  from  flower  and 
shrub,  or  new-mown  hay,  come  fresh  to  my  senses  now.  And 
in  winter  what  joys  were  ours  in  the  snow,  on  the  ice  with  our 
skates,  or  with  our  sleds  on  the  hill  down  its  long  incline  to  the 
village.  Why,  sometimes,  with  a  first-class  sled  and  a  free 
and  slippery  hill,  one  might  get  to  the  village  and  beyond,  if 
not  actually  to  the  next  hill  which  went  down  to  the  "big 
pond."  Our  bodily  activities  were  in  perfect  condition,  which 
is  to  say  they  were  the  activities  of  the  perfectly  healthy  boy 
animal.  If  there  be  any  greater  purely  physical  exhilaration 
than  coasting  with  your  felows  in  the  moonlight  down  a  long 
stretch  of  hill  under  such  conditions,  I  have  yet  to  know  it. 

And  so  each  season  had  its  special  pleasures  in  those  far- 
away days.  In  the  summer  the  berrying  season,  of  which  I 
have  tried  to  tell  a  little,  with  all  manner  of  outdoor  games. 

But  as  I  remember  now,  no  outing  quite  equalled  the  two 


4o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

or  three  excursions  to  the  "Sound."  These  were  always 
looked  forward  to  with  joyous  anticipation.  When  the  day 
arrived,  what  activity  and  eager  expectation  took  hold  of  the 
boys  and  pervaded  that  part  of  the  household  that  was  to 
prepare  the  huge  luncheon.  To  get  ready  the  food  and  drink 
for  twoscore  hungry  boys  was  no  small  matter  and,  as  usual, 
my  mother  was  the  directing  spirit.  I  see  them  now,  quietly 
resting  on  the  schoolhouse  steps,  two  bushel-baskets,  the  white 
towels  peeping  from  beneath  the  protecting  covering,  care- 
fully guarded,  and  to  be  transported  to  the  impatiently  ex- 
pected wagons  by  several  boys  detailed  for  the  purpose. 
Finally  someone  shouts,  "Here  it  comes,"  and  dashing  down 
the  street,  the  long  wagon  drawn  by  two  horses  comes  quickly 
to  the  front.  Soon  the  other  conveyance  arrives  and  every- 
thing is  ready.  The  boys  pile  in  pell-mell,  helter-skelter,  with 
much  shouting  and  shoving,  special  friends  and  chums  all  ex- 
citement to  get  seats  together.  The  driver  cracks  his  whip 
and  we  are  off  down  the  hill  to  and  through  the  village.  The 
town  turns  out  to  see  us,  for  the  boys  so  make  the  welkin  ring 
with  their  shouts  and  hurrahs  that  the  sleepy  old  town  is 
bound  to  awaken  for  the  passing  moment.  Six  miles,  perhaps 
seven,  was  the  distance,  but  every  mile  of  the  country  road 
was  full  of  interest  to  us,  and  we  excited  interest  in  all  the 
rustic  observers.  Everybody  knew  it  was  "Rockwell's  school" 
out  on  a  picnic.  Think  not  that  we  kept  up  the  good  gait  with 
which  we  started.  The  loads  were  heavy  and  the  horses  were 
no  great  shakes,  and  so,  after  the  village  was  left  behind,  the 
walk  or  slow  trot  was  substituted  for  the  ambitious  gallop. 
Every  down  grade  was  taken  advantage  of,  however,  and  we 
greatly  enjoyed  the  swifter  movement  as  the  horses  were  put 
to  the  test.  One  never  forgets  the  pleasurable  sensation  in- 
duced by  the  first  whiff  of  the  salt  sea  air.  As  we  approached 
the  shore,  we  soon  began  to  get  it,  and  when  the  wheels  were 
actually  plowing  the  soft  sands  which  led  to  the  distant  pines 
and  the  water,  in  an  instant  the  wagons  were  emptied.  Too 
impatient  to  wait  on  the  slow  progress  of  the  faithful  horses, 
every  boy  made  it  a  point  to  get  there  first,  and  in  a  trice 
clothes  were  off  and  the  little  bay-like  indentation  was  full  of 
happy  bathers.     The  boys  were  allowed  to  go  in  twice,  once 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  41 

immediately  on  our  arrival  and  again  in  the  middle  of  the 
forenoon  just  before  the  starting  for  home.  Hard  as  life 
often  becomes  with  its  labors,  disappointments,  and  sorrows, 
yet  it  is  well  to  have  lived,  if  only  to  have  experienced  season 
after  season  these  youthful  excursions  into  the  realm  of  ro- 
mance and  a  larger  liberty. 


CHAPTER  IV 

VISITS  to  my  grandparents'  home  in  Ridgefield,  ten  miles 
away,  were  warmly  appreciated.  My  grandfather  built 
this  home  in  1801  when  but  a  young  man  of  twenty-five, 
and  just  before  his  marriage.  The  three  elms  before  the  house 
he  himself  set  out  as  saplings,  and  watched  them  as  they  grew 
into  great  trees.  As  he  saw  them  slowly  grow  in  size  and 
strength  so  he  saw  the  beginnings  of  decay.  Now  but  one 
of  the  three  remains.  My  grandparents  lived  happily  together 
in  the  old  homestead  for  sixty-five  years.  There  I  always  had 
a  welcome  and  a  freedom  even  greater  than  in  my  own  home. 
The  ride  to  Ridgefield  was  somewhat  over  an  hour,  and  I  be- 
came familiar  in  time  with  every  house,  barn,  or  turn  in  the 
road,  in  the  gradual  ascent  from  New  Canaan  into  the  older, 
more  dignified,  and  more  aristocratic  town  of  Ridgefield.  The 
people  were  plain  enough  in  the  latter  place,  and  hard-work- 
ing, but  they  were  people,  many  of  them,  whose  ancestors  had 
lived  there  since  before  the  Revolution,  and  a  few  families,  as 
the  Kings  and  Hawleys,  had  achieved  wealth  and  a  certain 
social  standing  in  the  great  world. 

It  is  a  bright  October  morning.  I  remember  well  the  occa- 
sion of  one  of  these  trips.  The  horse  and  carriage  is  at  the 
door  and  I  am  already  seated.  My  father  comes  out,  un- 
hitches Peter  and  we  are  off.  No  automobile  ride  in  after 
years  was  ever  attended  with  the  exhilaration  of  this  one. 
What  air,  what  freedom,  what  visions  of  beauty,  were  the 
common  possession  of  us  both  as  we  sped  along.  To  the 
right,  to  the  left,  for  a  mile  or  two  were  familiar  places.  To 
the  right  in  the  valley  below  was  the  pond,  the  scene  of  my 
boating  fiasco, — to  the  right  "Giant's  Grave,"  where  we 
gathered  berries,  and  further  on,  "Indian  Rock,"  one  of  our 
most  fascinating  resorts.  The  thoughts  of  these  places,  the 
scenes  of  so  many  tranquil  delights  in  the  past  and  of  more  to 
come,  but  heightened  the  delicious  feeling  of  present  enjoy- 
ment. There  was  an  old-fashioned  courtesy  of  the  road  in 
those  days,  but  little  seen  in  these  times.  For  every  traveler 
going  in  the  opposite  direction,  whether  on  foot  or  in  carriage, 

42 


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CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  43 

driving  an  ox-cart,  or  working  by  the  way,  my  father  had  a 
word  or  bow  of  greeting.  We  did  not  talk  very  much.  He 
was  too  busy  with  his  thoughts  and  I  with  mine,  as  well  as 
with  my  eyes.  Nothing  in  nature  escapes  a  boy  and  especially 
the  chattering  squirrels  and  the  frisky  chipmunks.  How  I 
loved  to  watch  the  antics  of  the  little  fellows,  so  different  from 
the  gray  squirrels  around  the  house  here  in  Flushing  to-day. 
The  stone  walls  were  their  favorite  running  places,  and  in 
and  out  they  would  go  with  marvelous  agility. 

Within  two  miles  of  the  town  we  catch  sight  of  its  first 
building,  near  the  head  of  the  long  village  street,  and  I  always 
looked  for  it  as  a  sort  of  beacon.  Grandfather's  house  was 
at  the  other  end  of  the  street,  a  mile  away.  As  we  went  along 
we  began  to  appreciate  what  true  solitude  meant.  On  our 
way  it  is  true  we  had  passed  through  no  town,  but  there  were 
farms  all  along.  An  occasional  man  could  be  seen  at  work 
in  the  fields  bordering  the  highway,  an  ox-cart  would  rumble 
along,  or  there  was  a  boy  picking  berries ;  so  in  a  way  we  felt 
in  touch  with  our  kind.  But  as  we  drove  through  the  broad, 
beautiful  old  Ridgefield  street,  one  could  but  think  of  the 
"Deserted  Village."  If  a  man  was  seen  on  the  street  or  a 
woman  in  a  doorway,  it  was  an  event.  Whatever  other  day 
it  might  be,  we  knew  it  could  not  be  Sunday,  for  the  Sabbath 
was  the  only  live  day  in  the  town. 

Every  time  I  went  to  Ridgefield  and  passed  along  its  silent 
street  I  thought  of  the  next  Sunday,  and  was  glad  that  it  was 
a  week  day.  On  several  occasions  I  had  spent  Sundays  at  my 
grandfather's,  and  according  to  universal  custom  had  accom- 
panied him  to  the  services.  For  those  long  prayers,  long 
Scripture  lessons,  and  still  longer  sermons,  boylike,  I  had  a 
strong  aversion,  and  so  I  preferred  Ridgefield's  week  days  to 
its  Sundays. 

My  grandfather's  place  was  a  part  of  the  battlefield  of  the 
"Battle  of  Ridgefield"  so  called.  Some  three  hundred  feet 
down  the  road  is  pointed  out  the  spot  where  Arnold  shot  a 
Tory  named  Coon.  Across  the  summit  of  the  road  near  by 
was  the  barricade,  at  which  the  patriots  resisted  the  march  of 
the  British,  and  into  the  old  Stebbins  house  on  the  right  the 
wounded  were  taken.  I  remember  as  a  boy  the  dark  stains 
on  the  broad  board  floor,  and  to  have  been  told  that  they  were 


44  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

the  stains  left  by  the  blood  of  the  wounded.  Almost  every 
time  we  came  to  Ridgefield,  especially  if  any  stranger  was 
with  us,  we  would  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  street  and  see  the 
British  cannon  ball  still  imbedded  in  the  beam  of  an  old  house. 
I  suppose  the  cannon  may  have  carried  half  a  mile,  but  it 
was  a  cause  of  unceasing  wonder  to  us  how  anything  could 
shoot  so  far. 

In  justice  to  Ridgefield  it  must  be  said  that  in  the  time  I 
write  about  she  was  not  absolutely  asleep,  but  just  somnolent, 
a  condition  from  which  even  now  she  has  not  wholly  emerged. 
Ridgefield,  like  New  Canaan,  is  the  home  of  wealth  and  style, 
too,  with  an  admixture,  perhaps,  of  less  pretense  and  shoddy 
than  country  resorts  in  general.  It  is  a  lovely  old  nest,  and 
as  far  from  the  madding  crowd  as  one  can  well  get  and  yet 
be  surrounded  by  evidences  of  refinement  and  substantial  and 
rational  luxury. 

Finally  we  get  to  the  house  and  either  my  grandfather  or 
Uncle  John  comes  out  to  open  the  gate.  We  drive  in,  and  there 
is  my  grandmother,  as  usual  sitting  by  the  living-room  window, 
looking  so  kind  and  venerable  in  her  simple  dress  and  white 
cap.  She  certainly  was  always  real  glad  to  see  me.  How  do 
I  know  it?  Because  she  showed  it,  and  because,  unanswerable 
argument,  I  have  now  grandchildren  of  my  own. 

Once,  if  not  twice,  my  cousin  and  I  were  permitted  to  walk 
to  Ridgefield,  and  spend  a  few  days  with  my  grandparents. 
It  was  rather  a  long  walk  for  boys  of  ten,  but  I  can  well  re- 
member the  high  enjoyment  of  it  all,  and  the  usual  cordial 
welcome  of  the  old  people,  and  I  especially  recall  the  excursion 
we  made  in  search  of  Old  Sarah's  cave.  Old  Sarah  is  more 
than  a  tradition;  she  is  a  fact  of  history.  It  is  said  that  during 
the  Revolution  her  father's  house  on  Long  Island  was  burned 
by  the  British.  She  came  to  Connecticut  and  to  Ridgefield, 
and  made  for  herself  a  home  in  the  woods  overlooking  a 
beautiful  lake  some  few  miles  from  the  village.  Hers  was 
not  much  of  a  house,  simply  a  cleft  in  the  rock,  rounded  out  by 
piled-up  stones  and  a  covering  of  boards.  In  this  miserable 
habitation  she  lived  alone  for  years,  gathering  berries  in  sum- 
mer, fishing,  and  doing  odd  jobs.  It  is  rumored  that  she  made 
friends  with  all  manner  of  wild  life,  even  snakes.  Occasion- 
ally she  would  walk  to  the  village  to  buy  or  beg,  but  always 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  45 

returned  to  her  hut  at  nightfall.  She  was  looked  upon  with 
fear  by  the  small  boy,  and  with  pity,  mingled  perhaps  with 
disdain,  by  grown  people.  There  was  a  spring  of  water  near 
her  hut,  and  beside  this  spring  she  was  one  day  found  dead. 
Old  Sarah's  character  and  personality  assumed  a  new  and 
vital  interest  for  me  when  I  found  that  my  grandmother  knew 
her  well,  and  I  drank  in  eagerly  every  word  she  had  to  say. 
I  do  not  remember  much  in  detail,  but  grandmother  told  me  a 
great  deal  about  her  and  her  periodical  visits.  She  used  to 
stop  and  talk  and  rest  a  while  at  grandmother's  house  on  her 
way  home.  My  grandmother  described  her  as  old  and  bent, 
and  with  a  wild  and  haggard  look  not  reassuring  to  the  youth- 
ful imagination.  When  she  resumed  her  homeward  way,  it 
was  not  without  some  substantial  evidence  of  the  goodness  of 
my  old  grandmother's  heart.  We  finally  found  the  cave,  but 
what  a  disappointment!  We  were  looking  for  a  real  cave, 
but  all  that  we  found  were  a  few  loosely  piled  stones,  like  a 
section  of  a  ruinous  stone  fence,  guarding  a  triangular  slit  in 
the  great  rock.  That  any  human  being  could  have  lived 
through  a  rigorous  winter  in  such  a  habitation  is  almost  be- 
yond belief. 

This  visit  of  ours  to  Ridgefield  was  made  in  early  April, 
one  of  our  two  vacation  months.  The  day  arrived  for  us  to 
return  by  the  same  method  of  locomotion  as  we  had  come.  The 
old  shop  that  had  been  used  by  my  grandfather  as  a  cabinet- 
maker had  been  turned  into  a  tinshop,  and  before  we  set  out 
my  uncle,  with  kind  forethought,  had  fashioned  out  of  thick 
wire  two  hoops,  which  he  gave  us  to  roll  on  our  homeward 
way.  We  started  joyously  rolling  our  hoops,  but  before  we 
turned  into  the  New  Canaan  road  the  clouds  began  to  gather 
and  it  grew  cold.  Soon  the  air  was  filled  with  circling  snow- 
flakes,  and  we  thought  it  rare  fun,  but  it  kept  on  snowing; 
deeper  and  deeper  it  covered  the  ground  until  finally  progress 
became  more  difficult.  Still  we  struggled  onward  with  the 
snow  halfway  to  our  knees.  Finally  we  gave  it  up  and  stopped 
at  a  friendly  house  by  the  wayside.  The  good  woman  bade 
us  welcome,  gave  us  seats  by  a  warm  fire,  having  taken  off 
our  wet  stockings,  and  better  still,  comforted  us  by  something 
warm  to  eat  and  to  drink.  She  insisted  that  we  stay  all  night 
and  sleep  with  her  boy,  Abraham.     We  did  not  say  that  we 


46  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

would  not  stay,  but  in  an  hour  or  so  when  our  shoes  and  stock- 
ings were  thoroughly  dry,  instead  of  thanking  our  kind  hostess 
and  departing  decently,  we  stole  out  into  the  shed,  seized  our 
hoops,  and  departed  without  a  word  of  farewell.  As  I  think 
of  it  now,  the  only  inadequate  excuse  that  I  can  give  is  that 
we  thought  she  might  insist  still  further  on  our  staying  all 
night,  and  stupidly  could  think  of  no  other  way  to  get  out 
of  it. 

Lake  Waccabuc,  but  two  or  three  miles  as  the  crow  flies 
from  my  grandfather's  house,  was  a  loved  resort,  the  memory 
of  which  is  still  green.  The  lakes  are  indeed,  three  of  them, 
as  seen  in  the  illustration — three  jewels  in  a  charming  setting. 
All  are  connected  by  streams,  overhung  by  drooping  trees, 
through  which  the  voyager  pushes  his  boat,  from  one  to  the 
other,  until  he  gets  into  the  last  and  the  smallest.  In  these 
early  years  when  with  my  cousin  and  later  with  my  own  chil- 
dren I  frequented  these  lakes — this  little  sheet  of  water,  the 
last  of  this  chain  of  beauty  spots — seemed  the  most  romantic  in 
all  that  region.  I  recall  a  delightful  visit  to  these  lakelets  in 
the  company  of  General  Chaffee,  then  Major  Chaffee,  a  few 
years  after  the  close  of  our  Civil  War.  I  told  him  the  story 
of  "Old  Sarah"  and  her  cave  to  which  I  have  referred  and 
said  it  could  not  be  far  away.  He  suggested  that  we  scale  the 
steep  and  wooded  heights  and  find  it.  It  was  a  fruitless  quest, 
however,  for  no  cave  rewarded  our  search  on  that  day. 

Another  relative  with  whom  I  enjoyed  many  hours  of  pleas- 
ant companionship  in  my  visits  to  Ridgefield  was  my  cousin, 
Charles  Lee  Rockwell,  now  president  of  the  First  National 
Bank  at  Meriden,  Conn.  His  mother  was  a  Lee,  and  a  cousin 
of  the  Countess  Waldersee,  wife  of  Count  Waldersee,  for- 
merly chief  of  staff  of  the  Germany  army.  For  generations 
the  Lees  had  been  highly  respected  and  prosperous  farmers 
in  Ridgefield,  of  excellent  mentality  and  calm  judgment.  My 
aunt's  uncle  could  not  content  himself  with  farm  life,  and  so 
went  to  New  York  and  accumulated  a  fortune.  While  abroad 
his  daughter  married  an  English  prince,  and  after  his  death 
she  married  Count  Waldersee.  Although  thus  highly  placed, 
her  inherited  good  American  common  sense  was  never  im- 
paired, and  her  interest  in  Ridgefield  and  her  relatives  here 
remained  always  keen.     It  is  a  matter  of  history  that  when 


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CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  47 

General  Chaffee  commanded  the  American  forces  in  China, 
Count  Waldersee  being  commander-in-chief  of  the  allied 
forces,  sharp  letters  were  exchanged,  because  of  Chaffee's 
blunt  and  rather  undiplomatic  arraignment  of  the  brutal  ac- 
tions of  the  Germans. 

In  the  amicable  settlement  of  the  matter  by  the  two  com- 
manders "over  a  cup  of  tea,"  mention  was  made  of  their  "but- 
tonhole" relationship,  the  wife  of  the  general  being  a  Rock- 
well and  a  cousin  of  the  cousin  of  the  Countess. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  PLEASING  recollection  of  those  old  days  is  connected 
with  the  boys'  parlor.  The  room  was  in  the  second 
story  of  that  part  of  the  building  connected  with  the 
schoolhouse  and  the  main  or  family  house.  It  was  a  plain 
room,  uncarpeted,  with  permanent  seats  along  three  of  its 
sides.  The  other  side  was  reserved  for  my  father's  desk  and 
chair  and  a  small  bookcase  filled  with  books,  to  which  the 
boys  had  access.  I  remember  the  Rollo  books,  the  Fran- 
conia  stories,  and  "Masterman  Ready,"  among  others,  and 
it  seems  to  me  that  in  after  years  no  books  ever  gave  me  more 
delight  than  these  of  my  childhood. 

What  simplicity  and  what  good  sense  characterized  these 
tales  of  Jacob  Abbott.  They,  with  the  others,  but  they  espe- 
cially, left  an  eternal  aureole  and  intangible  charm,  an  in- 
definable something  that  remained  through  all  the  years  a 
part  of  my  very  existence.  It  is,  of  course,  explained  by  the 
fact  that  these  tales  recall  to  me,  as  do  no  other,  the  tranquil 
scenes  and  impressions  of  childhood.  In  that  Franconia  vil- 
lage where  the  simple,  primitive  scenes  were  laid,  the  children 
in  imagination  had  their  little  pleasures  and  pains.  They  de- 
lighted in  every  phase  of  nature,  the  great  storms  of  snow, 
the  skating  on  the  thick  ice,  the  snowballing  and  romping  in 
the  deep  snow  in  winter.  In  the  spring  the  melting  of  the 
snow  and  the  rains  brought  the  freshets,  and  these  I  see  now 
as  in  the  quaint  illustrations  I  saw  them  as  a  boy.  In  the 
summer  these  imaginary  boys  and  girls — to  this  day  real  to 
me — roamed  the  fields  for  the  red  strawberry,  climbed  the 
mountain  in  quest  of  the  blueberry,  and  fished  the  little 
streams.  Phonny,  the  hero  of  the  Franconia  stories,  had  his 
guide  and  mentor  in  the  person  of  Beechnut,  while  Rollo,  the 
hero  of  the  Rollo  stories,  had  in  Jonas  his  guide  and  faithful 
friend.  "Old-fashioned  and  stilted"  these  old  stories,  say 
some,  and  the  characters  priggish.  Be  it  so,  yet  they  have  sur- 
vived through  three-quarters  of  a  century,  and  are  still  read 
while  the  more  artificial  and  exciting  stories  which  followed 
had  their  little  day  and  are  dead.     When  my  boys  were  little 

48 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  49 

I  bought  the  books  for  them,  and  then  again  a  generation 
later  for  my  grandchildren.  Those  that  I  bought  for  my  chil- 
dren are  here  within  reach  as  I  write.  I  have  only  to  stretch 
out  my  hand,  as  I  often  do,  and  take  one.  I  turn  over  its 
pages,  read  a  few  lines  here  and  there,  glance  at  its  well- 
remembered  old-fashioned  illustrations,  and  get  again  the 
elusive  but  ever  real  aroma  of  the  happy  days  of  childhood. 
And  then  again  how  we  reveled  in  those  great  classics,  "Robin- 
son Crusoe"  and  "Two  Years  Before  the  Mast."  These  two, 
it  seems  to  me,  are  worth  all  the  modern  popular  books  for 
boys,  and  can  be  read  time  and  again  with  ever  increasing 
profit  and  delight. 

To  return  to  the  boys'  parlor  and  its  associations.  It  was 
a  very  plain  room  as  I  have  said.  It  had  to  be  for  the  use  of 
so  many  boisterous  boys.  Indeed  it  was  so  plain  that  when 
Josh.  Albro,  a  new  boy  and  a  very  odd  one,  was  first  intro- 
duced to  it,  he  said  with  vigorous  scorn,  "Boys'  parlor,  is  it? 
Humph !  I  should  call  it  the  boys'  kitchen."  In  this  "Boys' 
Parlor"  the  boys  assembled  after  the  study  and  play  of  the 
day,  and  my  father  would  read  or  talk  to  them.  Sometimes 
he  would  call  upon  some  boy  to  read,  and  this  was  considered 
a  great  honor.  Those  who  thought  they  could  read  pretty 
well  coveted  it.  This  excited  ambition  among  them,  and  each 
boy  that  was  called  did  his  very  best  in  clearness  of  enuncia- 
tion and  emphasis.  If  any  of  the  listeners  wished  to  comment 
or  to  ask  a  question,  he  would  hold  up  his  hand.  The  reader 
would  be  silenced  for  the  time,  and  whoever  wished  could 
have  his  say.  Original  composition  was  encouraged,  and  one 
of  the  boys  wrote  a  story  of  several  hundred  pages  entitled 
"The  Robbers."  The  author  duly  read  it  to  us  in  the  course 
of  several  evenings,  and  thereby  gained  great  local  fame.  He 
was  encouraged  to  publish  it,  and  gain  both  fame  and  money. 
But  to  this  there  seemed  insuperable  obstacles,  even  in  those 
days  of  few  periodicals  and  few  aspirants  for  literary  reputa- 
tion. The  young  author  is  dead  long  ago,  but  I  wonder  if 
that  boy's  story,  to  which  we  all  listened  with  breathless  inter- 
est, still  exists !     I  would  like  to  read  it  again. 

After  the  reading,  and  sometimes  instead  of  the  reading, 
my  father  would  talk  to  the  boys,  and  they  would  talk  to  him. 
It  would  be  something  like  a  conversational  prayer  meeting, 


5o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

questions  and  answers,  such  as  they  would  have  in  old  Ply- 
mouth Church  with  Mr.  Beecher  presiding.  I  remember  that 
on  one  occasion  the  talk  drifted  to  the  money  question,  on 
which  my  father  gave  the  boys  some  good,  sound  advice  re- 
garding expenditures  and  economy,  and  what  constituted  a 
competency  in  life.  One  of  the  boys  asked  him  what  he  con- 
sidered a  competency.  My  father  said  that  if  he  had  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  he  would  feel  like  a  rich  man.  On  that  he 
could  live  comfortably,  have  a  little  for  charity,  and  something 
left  for  travel  and  amusement. 

When  the  clock  struck  nine,  a  few  verses  from  the  Bible 
were  read,  after  that  a  prayer,  and  then  to  bed.  Each 
boy,  when  his  name  was  called,  would  get  up,  walk  to  the 
door,  face  about,  say,  "Good  night,  Mr.  Rockwell,"  and  the 
teacher  would  reply  with  a  "Good  night,  John"  or  "George" 
as  the  case  might  be. 

These  friendly  and  informal  talks  and  readings  were  un- 
doubtedly of  value  in  the  moral  and  educational  sense.  Old 
scholars  have  often  spoken  of  them  with  appreciation  and  de- 
light. My  father  liked  boys  then  and  always,  and  this  liking 
was  reciprocal,  for  no  one  more  than  a  boy  appreciates  friends 
and  knows  who  are  his  friends. 

Sundays,  as  I  remember  them,  were  by  no  means  tedious 
days.  We  went  to  church  twice,  both  morning  and  afternoon. 
We  formed  in  line  two  by  two,  and  at  a  given  word  the  proces- 
sion moved  across  the  green  to  the  Episcopal  Church  near  by. 
The  school  filled  five  or  six  seats,  and  my  father  sat  in  the 
rear  seat  where  he  could  see  everything  that  went  on  among 
the  boys,  or  at  least  where  he  thought  he  could.  A  watchful 
eye  was  necessary,  for  the  boys  became  restless  at  times,  and 
what  wonder.  On  one  occasion  there  was  quite  an  alterca- 
tion, during  the  Litany,  between  two  boys  on  the  front  seat. 
It  was  difficult  to  get  to  them,  and  I  well  remember  our  aston- 
ishment when  my  father  threw  his  Prayer  Book  as  an  admoni- 
tion. He  was  impelled  certainly  by  a  thoroughly  unconven- 
tional impulse,  and  the  incident  was  observed  by  few,  since 
heads  were  mostly  bowed.  The  book  struck  one  of  the  of- 
fending parties,  whose  astonishment  was  as  great  as  the  re- 
minder was  effectual.  The  long  service  was  often  somewhat 
tedious,  and  I  remember  how  we  inwardly  applauded  and  ap- 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  51 

proved  on  one  occasion,  when  the  visiting  clergyman,  halfway 
up  the  pulpit  steps,  paused  and  said  he  would  have  to  dismiss 
the  congregation,  as  he  had  unfortunately  left  his  sermon  at 
home. 

The  first  rector  of  the  church  was  a  Mr.  Short,  and  he  was 
followed  by  a  Mr.  Long,  but  Short  was  long,  and  Long  was 
short,  reminding  me  of  "Mr.  Knott  and  Mr.  Shott,"  where 
"Knott  was  shot  and  Shott  was  not."  Occasionally,  for  a 
change,  we  were  allowed  to  go  to  the  Congregational  church, 
where  we  sat  in  one  of  the  galleries  and  so  had  a  good  view 
of  the  people  below.  The  bearing  and  the  features  of  many 
of  them  come  to  me  as  distinctly  as  if  the  event  were  yes- 
terday. There  was  Mr.  Bradley,  still  comparatively  young, 
portly,  with  eyes  that  half  closed  when  he  smiled,  and  whose 
daughter  married  my  brother.  Mrs.  Silliman  comes  in  with 
her  two  boys,  Joseph  and  Justice.  Mary  Crissy  sweeps  up 
the  aisle  to  her  place  in  one  of  the  cross  seats.  She  was  very 
lively  and  pretty,  and  a  great  favorite.  She  married  Mr. 
Wheeler  of  the  firm  of  Wheeler  &  Wilson  of  sewing  machine 
fame,  and  for  many  years  lived  in  a  beautiful  house  at  Bridge- 
port, quite  different  from  her  humble  New  Canaan  home. 
Near  Mr.  Bradley  sits  Edgar  Raymond,  one  of  the  pillars 
of  the  church,  and  jolly  Sam  Comstock  with  his  wife  and 
three  daughters  make  their  way  to  a  pew  on  the  other  side 
aisle.  He  was  a  second  cousin  of  my  mother's,  and  in  the 
interval  between  the  two  services  they,  with  the  children,  fre- 
quently came  into  our  house  and  were  served  with  pie  and 
cheese.  Besides  being  jolly,  he  was  jolly  fat.  He  was  not 
one  with  Bacon,  whose  advice  was  "to  read,  not  to  confute, 
but  to  weigh  and  consider."  Sam's  one  idea  was  not  to  weigh, 
but  to  dispute  and  confute.  No  sermon  suited  him,  and  it 
was  great  fun  to  hear  him  pick  it  to  pieces.  After  working 
on  his  farm  all  the  week,  it  was  a  recreation  for  him  to  get  to 
church  and  dissect  the  sermon.  How  well  I  remember  his 
portly  form,  florid  face,  and  drooping  muscles,  as  he  sat 
in  argumentative  mood,  eating  his  pumpkin  pie.  His  wife, 
a  warm  friend  of  my  mother's,  was  a  gentle,  quiet  woman, 
quite  the  opposite  of  her  somewhat  boisterous,  assertive  hus- 
band. She  was  soft-voiced  and  gentle,  and  would  sometimes 
seem  disturbed  at  the  loud  tone  in  which  her  good-natured 


52  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

spouse  gave  utterance  to  his  oracular  sayings,  and  the  loud 
laughter  which  accompanied  them. 

The  Comstocks  lived  four  miles  from  town  on  the  way  to 
Ridgefield.  They  lived  in  one  of  those  spacious,  old-fashioned 
farmhouses  so  characteristic  of  the  fast-disappearing  New 
England  life.  The  family  consisted  of  one  son  and  four 
daughters.  Sarah  was  the  oldest  and  seemed  to  be  the  dom- 
inant spirit.  They  were  all  ardent  Democrats,  with  South- 
ern sympathies.  By  birth,  education  and  religious  training 
they  were  true  children  of  New  England  and  yet,  strange  to 
say,  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War  found  them  in  sympathy 
with  the  South.  They  were  excellent  people,  kind  and  hos- 
pitable and  ever  ready  to  give  a  helping  hand.  In  those 
earlier  days  farming  was  still  not  altogether  unprofitable. 
Produce  had  not  yet  begun  to  pour  in  from  the  West,  and 
the  New  England  farmers  still  got  living  prices  for  what 
they  raised.  Late  summer  and  fall  found  them  ready  to  dis- 
pose of  what  they  had  labored  to  gather,  and  just  as  we 
see  here  in  Flushing  to-day  the  farmers  from  the  outlying 
districts  taking  their  produce  to  the  city  markets  in  big  lum- 
ber wagons,  so  then  we  saw  the  farmers  on  the  way  to  Five 
Mile  River,  there  to  ship  their  precious  cargoes  to  New  York 
markets. 

The  most  familiar  sight  to  me  on  these  occasions  was  Sam 
Comstock.  His  big  figure,  with  his  fat,  rosy  cheeks,  perched 
high  on  his  load  of  hay,  slowly  making  his  way  to  the  land- 
ing, stand  out  as  vividly  now  as  if  the  day  was  only  yester- 
day. Sam,  long  years  ago,  returned  to  his  fathers,  but 
"young"  Sam  (now  some  seventy-odd)  remains.  Sarah  is 
dead,  too,  and  all  the  girls  save  one,  and  the  old  house  has 
gone  into  other  hands.  Within  a  few  years  the  effects  of 
the  house  were  sold  at  auction.  From  far  and  near  gathered 
the  smart  and  intrusive  summer  residents,  eager  to  get  some 
of  the  fine,  solid,  old-time  pieces  with  which  the  house 
abounded. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ABOUT  this  time  I  began  to  indulge  in  a  little  reading 
of  a  more  serious  character  than  I  had  before  at- 
tempted. Among  other  books  I  wanted  to  read  was 
"Two  Years  Before  the  Mast,"  and  having  saved  up  two 
dollars,  its  price,  I  enclosed  it  to  my  brother,  who  was  then 
in  a  store  in  New  York,  and  requested  him  to  get  it  for  me. 
In  reply  he  said  he  could  not  get  "Two  Years  Before  the 
Mast,"  and  sent  me  instead  "Jack  Sheppard,"  one  of  Ains- 
worth's  blood-curdling  tales  of  murder  and  robbery.  I  well 
remember  how  displeased  my  father  was  at  his  selection. 
Composition  writing  began  to  be  a  favorite  pastime,  and  I 
made  several  ambitious  attempts.  One  composition  on  the 
"Ruins  of  Time"  was  so  commended  that  surreptitiously  I 
sent  it  to  the  Norwalk  Gazette,  with  the  signature  simply 
"By  a  School  Boy."  What  was  my  delight  on  opening  the 
paper  the  following  week  to  find  it  in  print!  Soon  after  I 
sent  another,  entitled  "The  Past,  the  Present  and  the  Fu- 
ture," and  to  this  I  appended  my  initials.  Encouraged  by  its 
publication,  I  sent  another  article,  entitled  "The  Approach  of 
Autumn,"  signing  my  full  name  with  fear  and  trembling.  It, 
too,  appeared,  and  as  I  saw  my  own  very  signature  at  the 
end,  my.  satisfaction  was  complete,  and  I  think  my  mother  and 
father  were  very  much  pleased  also.  Since  then  I  have  seen 
my  name  attached  to  hundreds  of  articles,  medical  and  other- 
wise, but  never  with  the  thrill  with  which  I  saw  it  in  print 
for  the  first  time  in  the  Norwalk  Gazette.  I  sent  still  a 
fourth  article.  I  eagerly  scanned  the  pages  of  every  issue  for 
weeks,  but  my  diligence  was  not  rewarded,  for,  alas,  the  ar- 
ticle never  appeared.  The  editor  evidently  had  enough  of  a 
good,  or  most  probably,  a  bad  thing.  Of  course,  it  was  sorry 
stuff,  and  I  often  wonder  that  the  paper  had  the  temerity  to 
print  any  of  these  youthful  efforts.  As  a  boyish  production 
and  novelty,  it  might  perhaps  have  been  worth  while  for  once. 
A  few  years  after,  when  in  the  Grammar  School  of  Kenyon 
College,  I  re-read  before  the  school  the  composition  entitled 
"Past,  Present  and  Future,"  having  neglected  to  prepare  a 

53 


54  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

new  one.  The  principal  in  comment  said  that  when  I  an- 
nounced my  theme  covering  all  the  ages,  he  was  prepared  for 
something  unusually  comprehensive.  He  found,  however, 
that  the  title  was  far  more  comprehensive  than  its  treatment, 
and  intimated  that  if  I  had  confined  myself  to  one  division  of 
the  great  subject,  I  still  would  have  found  sufficient  scope  for 
all  my  powers.  The  veiled  sarcasm,  if  it  could  be  called 
veiled,  was  not  lost  upon  me. 

One  of  the  occasions,  and  to  me  always  an  eventful  oc- 
casion, was  the  annual  visit  of  the  bishop  of  the  diocese, 
Bishop  Williams.  I  looked  upon  him  with  the  greatest  awe 
and  reverence,  and,  indeed,  he  was  worthy  of  any  man's  re- 
spectful consideration.  At  the  time  I  knew  him  the  Bishop 
was,  I  should  say,  in  his  early  forties.  Tall,  with  a  magnifi- 
cent presence  and  princely  bearing,  he  seemed  to  my  boyish 
mind  to  personify  greatness,  goodness  and  graciousness.  I 
suppose  I  felt  towards  him  then  somewhat  as  the  poor  Irish- 
man felt  toward  Phillips  Brooks.  Said  he,  "Whenever  I 
think  of  God,  I  think  of  Phillips  Brooks."  These  two  men 
were  indeed  in  their  way  ideal  representatives,  both  spiritu- 
ally, mentally  and  physically,  of  the  highest  type  of  manhood. 
They  illustrated  the  power  of  personality,  and  under  their 
benign  and  uplifting  influence  men  and  women  were  impelled 
as  by  an  unseen  force  to  give  their  hearts  and  strength  to  the 
cause  they  advocated.  To  me  what  the  Bishop  said  was  man- 
datory, with  an  authority  next  only  to  God  himself.  Withal, 
the  Bishop  was  not  at  all  pietistic,  as  I  learned  in  after  years, 
but  in  a  way  he  was  a  man  of  the  world,  as  all  true  men 
should  be. 

When  it  was  announced  from  the  pulpit  that  the  Bishop  was 
to  come,  there  was  a  more  or  less  flutter  of  excitement  in  our 
household.  By  virtue  of  my  father's  position  as  a  warden, 
our  proximity  to  the  church,  his  character  as  teacher  and 
well-to-do  man  relatively,  the  Bishop  generally  dined  at  our 
table.  In  the  best  sense  of  the  word  he  was  an  aristocrat 
in  thought,  as  well  as  in  bearing,  and  my  mother,  I  always 
imagined,  was  a  trifle  afraid  of  him.  The  Bishop  liked  good 
things,  and  he  was  always  accustomed  to  his  daily  glass  of 
wine,  according  to  the  English  custom.  We  never  had  wine 
on  our  table.     Indeed,  my  mother  did  not  at  all  approve  of  it, 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  55 

although  in  her  old  age  she  came  to  a  high  appreciation  of 
the  virtues  of  her  own  home-made,  delicious,  fermented  grape 
juice.  She  would,  therefore,  every  time  the  Bishop  was  to 
come,  declare  that  she  would  have  no  wine,  Bishop  or  no 
Bishop,  and  yet  as  often  as  he  came  the  wine  was  ready  at 
his  plate,  and  he  enjoyed  it,  altogether  in  ignorance  of  his 
hostess's  momentary  hostility. 

I  do  not  remember  much  that  the  Bishop  ever  said,  but 
his  manly,  inspiring  figure  in  the  pulpit  and  out,  his  sonorous 
yet  pleasing  voice,  his  benignant  expression  and  friendly 
smile,  have  always  remained  as  a  pleasant  possession.  Many, 
many  years  after,  when  my  son  was  a  student  at  the  Univer- 
sity at  Middletown,  Conn.,  with  the  purpose  of  studying  for 
the  ministry,  he  got  to  know  Bishop  Williams.  He  was  think- 
ing of  turning  to  the  Episcopal  Church  and  sought  the  advice 
of  the  Bishop.  He  spoke  of  his  grandfather,  and  the  Bishop 
seemed  promptly  to  remember  all  about  him,  but  what  most 
impressed  the  boy  was  the  sound  advice  he  gave  him.  He 
did  not  in  haste  seize  upon  him  as  a  convert  and  as  a  recruit 
for  his  church,  but  bade  him  consider  well  and  be  sure  of  his 
ground.  But  after  all  my  son  did  not  enter  the  ministry. 
During  his  senior  year  he  was  skating  on  the  river  with  a 
young  lady  one  evening,  when  the  ice  broke  and  they  both  fell 
into  the  cold  water.  In  vain  he  attempted  to  get  out  and 
rescue  his  companion.  In  the  brief  moments  before  some  be- 
lated skaters  came  to  their  aid  a  thousand  thoughts  flashed 
through  his  mind,  as  they  will  on  such  occasions.  He  thought 
of  me,  and  how  parallel  some  events  of  our  lives  had  run. 
I  had  had  in  mind  the  ministry  and  so  had  he.  I  had  given 
it  up,  and  he  was  so  inclined.  In  my  college  days  I,  too,  had 
fallen  into  a  swift-flowing  river,  while  skating  with  a  girl, 
and  barely  escaped  with  my  life. 

My  mother's  eldest  sister  lived  in  South  Norwalk,  in  what 
is  now  a  busy  business  street  near  the  water.  She  was  the 
widow  of  a  sea  captain,  and  lived  very  comfortably  with  an 
only  daughter.  The  place  was  called  Old  Mill,  but  why  I 
know  not.  There  were  a  number  of  fine  cherry  trees  in  her 
yard,  and  it  was  a  regular  thing  for  my  cousin  and  myself 
to  spend  a  day  or  two  there  in  cherry  time.  When  the  joyful 
occasion  arrived  we  were  up  by  daylight,  getting  to  my  aunt's 


S6  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

house  in  time  for  breakfast.  It  was  a  little  distance  of  five 
or  six  miles  and  the  walk  was  just  sufficient  to  accentuate  the 
always  hearty  appetite  of  a  boy  for  breakfast.  However 
hearty  the  meal,  there  was  always  room  for  cherries,  and 
when  through  we  lost  no  time  in  climbing  the  trees  in  quest 
of  a  feast  of  fruit.  This  over,  we  sallied  forth  in  search  of 
pleasure  and  adventure.  We  seldom  failed  to  find  both.  It 
was  always  a  pleasure  to  be  free  and  in  the  open.  Along  the 
waterside  or  at  the  old  station  watching  for  the  rather  infre- 
quent trains  of  those  days,  there  was  enough  to  keep  us  busily 
engaged.  The  boys  of  the  vicinage  regarded  us  as  outsiders 
and  trespassers,  and  with  leering  looks  and  uncomfortable 
remarks  tried  to  make  us  feel  our  isolation.  Boys  are  often 
cruel,  quite  as  cruel  and  unmoral  sometimes  as  nations.  If 
a  gang  of  boys  can  manage  to  make  another  boy  uncomfort- 
able, one  who  comes  as  a  stranger  among  them,  they  are  only 
too  ready.  These  boys  of  whom  I  write  were  really  a  very 
ugly  lot.  They  threw  stones  at  us,  called  us  names  and  made 
fun  of  us  and  of  our  good  clothes.  We  paid  little  attention 
to  them,  which  only  exasperated  them  the  more.  Finally  one 
of  the  five  or  six  of  our  enemies  ventured  near  and  put  a  hand 
on  Steve's  shoulder.  Steve  promptly  shook  him  off.  His  an- 
tagonist seemed  bent  on  creating  a  disturbance,  however,  and 
grabbed  at  Steve,  who  also  was  quick  enough  to  get  a  good 
hold,  and  there  they  stood  like  two  young  gladiators  glaring 
at  each  other.  The  fellow's  companions  gathered  savagely 
around,  and  urged  him  to  punch  Steve  in  the  face.  It  was  a 
critical  moment,  for  we  were  outnumbered  more  than  two  to 
one.  It  was  unquestionably  a  fact  that  we  were  scared.  Five 
rough,  dirty  fellows  surrounded  us,  with  the  will  and  the 
power  to  wipe  the  earth  with  us  and  with  our  comparatively 
fine,  clean  suits,  which  had  in  some  way  aroused  their  anger. 
As  in  after  years,  during  the  Civil  War,  I  had  occasion  many 
times  to  seem  not  to  fear  when  I  was  really  very  much  afraid, 
so  it  was  then.  I  clinched  my  fists  as  I  saw  the  others  do; 
indeed,  I  think  I  picked  up  a  stick  and  with  determined  mien 
ranged  myself  beside  my  threatened  partner.  The  two  boys 
glared  at  each  other,  and  with  stick  in  hand,  I  said,  "Hit  him 
if  you  dare."  Now,  whether  it  was  this  bold  front  on  our 
part,  aided  by  the  moral  influence  of  our  supposedly  superior 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  57 

social  status,  that  put  an  end  to  the  matter,  or  whether  it  was 
the  approach  of  reinforcements  in  the  shape  of  the  station- 
master,  who  was  getting  back  from  his  dinner,  I  never  knew, 
but  with  a  scowl,  the  fellow's  hold  relaxed.  Steve  willingly 
relaxed  his  hold,  and  with  a  parting  benediction  of  hate,  the 
young  outlaws  took  to  their  heels. 


CHAPTER  VII 

1HAVE  already  mentioned  my  mother's  brother,  Seymour 
Comstock,  who  was  an  interesting  character.  I  surmise 
that  a  certain  strain  of  queerness  might  be  detected,  by  a 
careful  analysis,  in  almost  every  family,  and  at  times  a  suf- 
ficient deviation  from  the  normal  might  be  observed  in  every 
individual,  which,  carried  to  its  logical  conclusion,  would 
mean  actual  mental  alienation,  in  other  words,  insanity.  How- 
ever, my  good  uncle,  altogether  sane,  was  not  a  little  queer. 
From  my  earliest  recollection  he  was  a  semi-invalid,  lean, 
dyspeptic  and  neurotic,  yet  never  down  sick;  always  busy  and 
ready  for  work.  He  died  at  the  great  age  of  ninety-nine,  and 
the  bases  of  his  longevity  were,  of  course,  sound  arteries  and 
simple  methods  of  living.  I  believe,  however,  that  his  life- 
long habit  of  apple-eating  was  an  important  contributing  fac- 
tor. From  ten  to  twenty  apples  was  his  daily  allowance,  and 
the  day  was  considered  lost  or  out  of  joint  if  for  any  cause 
this  habit  was  interfered  with.  The  apple  is  the  king  of  all 
fruit;  and  equalled  by  none  in  its  many-sided  adaptation  as 
a  preventive  of  physical  ills.  In  his  later  years  dealing  in 
butter  was  my  uncle's  hobby.  He  was  happy  if  he  could  buy 
up  all  the  butter  that  the  farmers  would  bring  him,  and  if 
he  could  sell  it  at  a  profit,  well  and  good — if  not,  he  was 
still  happy  in  his  ability  to  sell.  He  was  very  unobserving, 
and  it  was  therefore  possible  to  hoodwink  him  and  act  against 
his  interests  in  a  way  that  a  more  alert  and  practical  mind 
would  have  detected  at  once.  For  example,  he  gave  us  so 
much  a  pound  for  all  the  old  iron  we  could  find.  There  was 
a  dumping  place  for  the  iron  behind  the  store.  To  our  shame 
be  it  said,  once  or  twice  at  least,  after  selling  him  a  few 
pounds  of  iron,  we  would  surreptitiously  retake  it  and  sell 
it  over  again.  We  were  allowed  to  go  behind  the  counter 
and  roam  over  the  store  at  will.  It  was  not  permissible  to 
take  the  whole  cakes  from  the  cake  drawer,  but  my  uncle  said 
that  if  there  were  any  broken  ones  we  could  have  them. 
Whenever,  therefore,  we  found  no  broken  cakes,  we  promptly 
broke  some,  and  this  supplied  the  deficiency.     I  do  not  re- 

58 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  59 

member  that  this  was  ever  detected,  but  a  time  of  reckoning 
was  near.  Steve's  brother  Albert,  returning  from  Ohio,  took 
charge  of  affairs,  and  from  that  time  business  principles  pre- 
vailed. We  came  from  behind  the  counter  one  day  laden  with 
spoils.  "What  have  you  in  your  hands,  Steve?"  "Nothing," 
he  replied.  "Yes,  you  have;  give  it  to  me,"  said  his  brother. 
Steve  remained  rebellious,  whereupon  Albert  grasped  the 
tightly  closed  hand  and  attempted  to  open  it.  The  other 
stoutly  resisted,  but  in  vain.  Gradually  the  fingers  loosened, 
one  by  one,  and  some  purloined  candies  fell  to  the  floor.  The 
result  was  that  we  two  boys  were  excluded  from  the  private 
ways  of  the  establishment,  and  thereafter  had  to  take  our 
chances  with  mere  outsiders. 

My  cousin  Steve  was  a  restless  chap,  and  eager  for  pleas- 
ure, for  new  sights,  sounds  and  scenes.  I  have  already  spoken 
about  some  of  our  truant  adventures.  He  was  anxious  to 
try  again,  but  I  had  had  enough,  and  from  time  to  time  re- 
fused to  join  him  in  another  attempt.  About  the  time  the 
new  regime  went  into  effect  in  the  store,  Steve  made  up  his 
mind  to  run  away  again.  We  were  together  on  the  stoop  in 
front  of  the  store,  and  he  again  urged  me  to  go,  but  I  refused. 
"Well,  then,  good-bye,"  he  said,  as  he  leaped  from  the  high 
end  of  the  stoop  and  started  on  his  long  journey.  I  watched 
him  as  he  made  his  way  down  the  street  through  the  lower 
village,  finally  disappearing.  When  that  night  and  the  next 
day  and  the  day  following  he  failed  to  appear,  his  family 
were,  of  course,  very  much  alarmed.  I  have  always  had  the 
impression  that  a  pond  which  we  frequented  was  dragged,  but 
it  may  be  that  the  idea  was  only  suggested.  I  do  not  even  re- 
member that  I  was  questioned  about  the  matter,  but  it  is  prob- 
able that  I  was.  If  so,  I  gave  out  no  information.  My  cousin 
was  absent  only  about  one  week.  At  that  time  an  older  brother 
was  employed  in  the  store  of  Mr.  Nail,  of  Detroit, 
who  had  married  our  cousin,  formerly  of  Norwalk,  Conn., 
Steve's  objective  point  was  Detroit,  where  he  hoped  to  get  a 
place  in  the  store  with  his  brother.  He  walked  to  Darien, 
taking  train  for  New  York.  On  his  way  from  New  York  to 
Albany  he  observed  two  men  on  a  car  not  far  away  talking, 
and  occasionally  they  would  look  his  way.  With  the  sensi- 
tiveness of  a  guilty  conscience,  he  thought  they  were  watch- 


60  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

ing  him  and  talking  about  him.  He  became  uneasy,  and  after 
night  had  fallen,  he  slipped  out  of  the  car  to  the  platform, 
and  the  train  went  on  without  him.  As  railroad  fares  were 
not  at  that  time  regulated  as  now,  his  ticket  became  worth- 
less. He  finally  reached  Buffalo  and  took  steamer  for  De- 
troit, but  as  he  secured  no  berth,  not  knowing,  indeed,  any- 
thing about  such  things,  he  spent  that  night  as  best  he  could. 
Arriving  in  Detroit,  he  found  that  his  brother  had  just  taken 
his  departure  for  the  East.  Without  waiting  to  make  calls 
on  other  relatives,  he  immediately  retraced  his  steps,  reach- 
ing Darien  in  due  time,  and,  not  waiting  for  the  stage,  he 
started  to  walk  the  four  miles  to  New  Canaan.  When  he 
left  home  he  took  with  him  no  change  of  clothes,  neither  comb 
nor  brush,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  in  the  whole  week  he 
had  thoroughly  washed  his  face  or  hands.  He  doubtless  pre- 
sented a  most  dirty  and  disreputable  appearance.  His  brother 
had  come  up  from  New  York  on  the  same  train  and  waited 
for  the  stage,  while  Steve  pushed  on  afoot,  the  two  not  hav- 
ing seen  each  other.  Finally  the  truant  was  overtaken,  and 
the  driver,  who  recognized  him,  invited  him  to  get  in. 
Through  the  accumulation  of  a  week's  dirt,  William  did  not 
at  first  see  any  resemblance  between  this  ragamuffin  and  his 
brother.  When  he  saw  who  it  was  he  expressed  his  aston- 
ishment, asked  what  was  the  matter  and  where  he  had  been. 
Steve  replied  "that  he  had  been  down  the  road  a  little  way." 
His  sister  met  him  at  the  door  as  he  walked  into  the  house  and 
said,  "You  naughty  boy;  where  have  you  been?"  He  simply 
grinned,  sat  down  at  the  supper  table  and  began  to  eat  greed- 
ily, as  if  half  starved.  Shortly  he  came  out  and  we  went  to- 
gether down  into  the  "lots."  Here  he  drew  out  a  ten-dollar 
bill,  all  that  was  left  of  the  money  with  which  he  had  supplied 
himself  before  he  started  his  journey.  I  think  it  better  to  say 
nothing  about  the  source  of  this  money  supply.  What  to  do 
with  this  ten-dollar  bill  was  the  question.  It  would  be  difficult 
to  get  it  changed  and  the  possession  of  it  would  instigate 
questioning.  After  considerable  discussion,  he  finally  con- 
cluded to  burn  it.  In  a  way  I  was  almost  as  guilty  as  my 
cousin.  I  knew  how  he  had  supplied  himself  with  funds,  and 
had  made  no  protests  nor  objections. 

At  another  time,  also,   as  I  have  already  recorded,  in  a 


CHILDHOOD  AND  EARLY  YOUTH  61 

former  truant  affair,  I  had  done  the  same  thing  in  a  smaller 
way.  Not  until  long  years  after  did  the  whole  truth  come 
out.  William  never  even  knew  that  his  brother  had  been  to 
Detroit.  Only  Steve  and  I  knew  the  truth.  Steve  told  his 
parents  that  he  had  saved  enough  money  to  get  to  New  York, 
and  afterwards  went  up  the  North  River  peddling  oranges. 
Looking  back  at  it,  I  cannot  but  be  astonished  at  the  mon- 
strosity of  it  all.  Boys  are  a  strange  combination  of  tender- 
ness and  cruelty.  In  regard  to  animals,  they  do  not  consider 
the  bodily  pain  they  inflict.  In  the  same  way,  they  have  little 
thought  of  the  intense  mental  pain  they  cause  parents  by 
thoughtless  conduct. 


Book  II 

YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD 
CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  question  of  a  career  was  not  a  little  in  my  mind 
when  I  arrived  at  the  age  of  fifteen.  As  a  rule,  boys 
do  not  know  what  they  want  nor  for  what  they  are 
best  fitted.  My  thought,  directed  possibly  by  our 
young  physician,  Dr.  Roberts,  was  for  the  profes- 
sion of  medicine,  and  I  recollect  that  it  appealed  to  me  because 
it  would  take  me  so  much  in  the  open  air,  in  carriage  or  on 
horseback,  preferably  the  latter.  About  this  time  my  eyes 
began  to  trouble  me  somewhat,  and  when  a  brother,  then  a 
clerk  with  Ball,  Black  &  Company,  jewelers,  New  York  City, 
wrote  saying  that  a  situation  was  open  for  a  boy,  I  concluded 
to  accept  it. 

Well  do  I  remember  the  eventful  day  of  my  departure.  It 
was  a  great  event.  I  felt  its  importance  and  my  own  im- 
portance, but  as  I  look  back  at  it  now  I  see  a  certain  pathos 
in  it  all,  this  severing  of  relations.  The  ties  that  held  me  to 
boyhood  days  and  pleasures  along  old  and  familiar  lines  were 
to  be  broken  forever.  Henceforth  there  were  to  be  no  more 
trips  to  "Indian  Rock"  in  the  company  of  boy  intimates,  where 
we  imagined  ourselves  wild  Indians.  The  old  familiar  ponds 
and  streams  would  never  again  be  just  the  same,  nor  would 
I  ever  in  the  days  to  come  sail  them,  or  swim  in  them,  or 
walk  their  banks  with  the  zest  or  sense  of  pleasure  that  I  had 
known.  No  such  thoughts  as  these,  however,  occurred  to  my 
mind  as  I  climbed  into  the  carriage  which  would  take  me  to 
the  Darien  station.  Alas,  to  my  great  regret,  our  good  horse, 
Peter,  was  no  longer  with  us  to  drive  on  this,  my  entry  into 
the  busy  world  of  affairs.  I  felt  that  I  was  taking  a  step  up 
in  the  world,  and,  wishing  to  impress  my  importance  on  the 
driver  at  my  side,  I  told  him  that  he  must  drive  fast,  as  it 
would  not  do  for  me  to  miss  the  train,  since  I  had  an  impor- 
tant engagement  to  meet  in  New  York.    As  the  distance  was 

63 


64  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

but  four  miles  and  we  had  nearly  an  hour  to  make  it,  it  is 
possible  that  the  driver  saw  no  special  necessity  for  haste. 

Ball,  Black  &  Company  then  did  business  at  the  corner  of 
Broadway  and  Murray  Street.  The  building  was  a  four- 
story,  yellow  brick  structure,  with  a  huge  golden  eagle  with 
outstretched  wings  perched  above  the  main  entrance.  In  the 
years  that  followed,  this  building  and  still  another  on  the 
same  site  have  been  razed  to  the  ground,  and  a  third  struc- 
ture of  imposing  front  stands  where  the  old  original  brick 
store  stood.  The  firm  of  to-day,  its  title  changed  to  Black, 
Starr  &  Frost,  still  flourishes  on  Fifth  Avenue,  above  Forty- 
second  Street,  and  the  same  old  shining  eagle  occupies  his 
perch  above  the  door,  through  which  pass  and  repass  the 
purchasers  of  another  generation. 

I  called  for  my  brother  and  he  took  me  to  Mr.  Ball,  the 
head  and  guiding  spirit  of  the  firm,  a  tall,  thin,  austere-appear- 
ing man,  who  scanned  me  indifferently  and  said,  "He  looks 
like  a  good  strong  boy.  You  can  put  him  to  work."  These 
were  the  only  words  he  ever  addressed  to  me  until  I  came 
to  leave  six  months  later. 

It  is  difficult  for  the  present  generation  to  understand  how 
different  was  the  New  York  of  1856  from  the  city  of  to-day. 
Its  population  was  not  more  than  five  hundred  thousand  and 
Twenty-third  Street  was  the  uptown  limit  of  its  active  urban 
life.  Stewart's  drygoods  store  was  at  the  corner  of  Broad- 
way and  Chambers  Street,  and  most  of  the  high-class  retail 
business  was  in  that  neighborhood.  Tiffany,  indeed,  had 
boldly  established  himself  a  little  north  of  Canal  Street,  and 
in  his  business  was  second  only  to  the  famous  Ball,  Black  & 
Company. 

To  illustrate  the  rapidity  that  has  always  characterized 
the  development  of  this  great  town,  I  point  to  the  fact  that  in 
a  very  few  years  the  firm  I  was  with  built  a  fine  structure  at 
the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Prince  Street.  In  a  few  years 
they  found  themselves  too  far  downtown,  and  migrated  to  the 
corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty-eighth  Street.  Now  they 
are  at  Fifth  Avenue  and  Forty-ninth  Street.  Tiffany  &  Com- 
pany also  found  themselves  too  far  away,  and  erected  a  fine 
building  at  Fifteenth  Street  and  Union  Square.  There  they  did 
business  for  a  good  many  years,  until  they  moved  into  their 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  65 

present  splendid  quarters  at  Fifth  Avenue  and  Thirty-seventh 
Street. 

At  the  time  I  went  as  a  boy  to  work  for  the  jewelry  concern 
in  New  York,  the  firm  consisted  of  Ball,  Black  and  Monroe, 
Monroe  being  the  "company."  If  I  might  characterize  the 
three  men,  I  should  say  that  Mr.  Ball  was  by  far  the  ablest 
man  of  the  concern,  Mr.  Black  the  most  portly  and  sluggish, 
and  Mr.  Monroe  seemingly  the  smallest  and  most  penurious, 
and  yet  he  was  a  kind  man  and  sympathetic,  and  all  were 
men  of  character  of  the  best  type.  Originally  these  men  were 
simply  salesmen  for  the  firm  of  Marquand  &  Company. 
Years  after,  during  the  famous  cholera  season,  when  every- 
body who  could  fled  the  city,  these  three  clerks  remained  at 
their  posts,  and  to  this  action  is  credited  the  fact  that  subse- 
quently they  were  taken  into  partnership.  Ball,  Black  and 
Monroe  are  all  long  dead.  When  I  was  a  boy  in  the  store, 
the  second  Black  was  younger  than  myself  and  still  at  school. 
Starr  was  a  bookkeeper  and  Frost  a  salesman.  All  these, 
too,  have  passed  away  and  I  take  it  that  the  present  head  of 
the  house  is  the  grandson  of  the  original  Black. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  WAS  in  April,  1856,  in  my  sixteenth  year,  that  I  went  to 
New  York.  In  that  year,  too,  a  brother  came  to  New 
York  to  take  a  bank  position,  where  he  remained  for  more 
than  fifty  years.  Before  me  as  I  write  is  an  old  engraving 
of  Broadway,  between  Grand  and  Howard  Streets,  as  it 
looked  in  1840,  the  year  of  my  birth,  sixteen  years  before  I 
came  to  town  as  a  boy.  Sixteen  years  is  a  long  time  in  the 
life  of  a  modern  city,  and  therefore  most  of  those  low  and 
apparently  wooden  structures  that  I  see  had  then  given  place 
to  other  buildings.  The  street  scene,  however,  was  very  much 
the  same.  It  was  before  the  time  of  street  cars  and  auto- 
mobiles, and  the  same  old  lumbering  stages  and  carts,  with 
an  occasional  carriage,  occupied  the  scene.  If  one  was  a  pe- 
destrian, he  was  not  actually  lonely.  The  people  were  con- 
stantly passing  and  repassing,  but  the  streets  were  not 
crowded,  and  there  was  no  great  hurrying.  Compared  with 
the  life  of  to-day,  it  was  provincial,  and  looking  back,  the 
contrast  between  then  and  now  seems  very  great,  and  in  my 
mind,  perhaps,  in  favor  of  the  former.  But  it  is  always  so; 
the  past  becomes  refined  or  glorified.  Seen  in  the  dim  dis- 
tance, as  in  the  background  of  a  landscape,  all  the  rough  fea- 
tures fade,  and  only  the  agreeable  remains.  Time's  perspec- 
tive straightens  what  would  otherwise  seem  crooked,  and 
smooths  the  rough  edges  and  wrinkled  surfaces.  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  more  than  sixty  years  have  fled  since  those  days? 
They  continue  still  very  vivid  to  me.  The  old  yellow  brick 
building,  with  its  golden  eagle  over  the  entrance,  stands  there 
still,  if  my  mental  vision  does  not  deceive  me,  and  as  I  enter 
the  door,  back  from  some  errand,  every  detail  is  clear  to  my 
mind.  Brown,  the  watchmaker,  sits  in  the  northeast  corner, 
with  glass  in  place  to  aid  his  vision.  Van  Buren,  tall  and 
lean,  is  bending  over  the  counter,  engaged  with  a  customer. 
Gelson,  thin,  too,  but  old  and  gray-headed  and  bearded,  stands 
near  him.  Frost  is  there,  always  good-natured  and  talkative, 
and  White,  of  Cleveland,  even  more  talkative — so  much  so 
that  we  frequently  had  to  take  refuge  in  flight  to  escape  his 

66 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  67 

busy  hum.  Where  they  and  all  the  rest  in  that  old  store  have 
gone,  with  the  exception  of  myself,  I  well  know.  Every  one 
is  in  his  grave.  Then  there  was  William  Black,  son  of  one 
of  the  partners,  urbane  and  fond  of  what  are  falsely  called 
the  good  things  of  life,  so  fond  of  them  that  he  passed  away 
before  his  time.  The  younger  Monroe,  too,  like  his  father, 
kind  and  considerate,  but  also  like  him  in  the  keen  apprecia- 
tion of  the  value  of  money  and  keeping  it  well  within  his 
grasp.  Although  the  character  and  taste  of  these  two  were 
widely  divergent,  they  were  a  great  deal  together,  but  in  time 
these  varying  tastes  resulted  in  a  gradual  cessation  of  in- 
timacy. Starr,  the  assistant  bookkeeper,  later  a  member  of 
the  firm,  seemed  to  be  the  busiest,  breeziest  man  of  all.  He 
and  Frost  were  great  friends,  and  when  Sunday  came  I  can 
see  them  starting  off  together  for  a  day's  outing  in  the  Elysian 
fields  at  Hoboken.  Think  of  it !  Ye  gods,  Elysian !  The 
residence  of  the  blessed  after  death,  a  condition  of  perfect 
happiness,  and  all  in  Hoboken,  and  to  be  reached  by  ferry 
for  two  cents !  And  there  was  Marcus.  He  was  a  specialist 
in  diamonds,  and  finally  established  the  well-known  Fifth  Ave- 
nue house  of  Marcus  &  Sons,  now  actively  managed,  I  think, 
by  the  third  generation.  The  elder  Marcus  is  especially 
remembered  by  me,  because  upon  occasion  when  he  did  not 
wish  to  go  out  at  noon,  either  on  account  of  business  or  in- 
clement weather,  he  would  ask  me  to  get  for  him  a  frugal 
luncheon  of  gingerbread. 

The  head  bookkeeper  was  an  Englishman,  whose  person- 
ality is  just  as  clear  as  all  the  others.  He  was  a  characteris- 
tic Englishman.  One  illustration  of  the  type  of  man  he  was  I 
recall.  Leaving  the  store  at  noon  one  day,  he  saw  a  driver 
abusing  his  horse.  He  ordered  him  to  cease.  The  driver 
then  transferred  his  abuse  from  the  horse  to  the  man,  where- 
upon our  bookkeeper  called  a  policeman,  took  him  to  court, 
and  had  him  fined. 

And  lastly,  two  other  not  unimportant  members  of  the  cor- 
poration must  be  mentioned — the  two  colored  porters,  Sam 
and  Peter.  Sam  was  an  old  man,  and  had  been  with  the  firm 
half  a  century;  in  fact,  since  its  very  existence.  In  a  way  he 
was  part  and  parcel  of  the  firm,  and  was  accorded  all  the  re- 
spect and  privileges  of  an  old  and  trusted  servant.     He  re- 


68  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

minded  me  of  an  old-time  Southern  negro,  whose  very  life 
was  a  part  of  the  family  he  served.     He  was  very  black  and 
grizzly,  with  a  suave  and  deferential  manner,  yet  with  a  cer- 
tain authoritative  mien,  which  indicated  that  he  was  not  to  be 
trifled  with  when  the  interests  of  anything  connected  with  the 
firm  were  involved.     Sam  and  I  became  very  good  friends, 
for  I  was  always  polite  and  friendly  with  him,  and  he,  in  turn, 
was  able  to  give  me  some  business  points  that  were  of  value. 
Some  of  the  clerks,  however,  opposed  him  in  a  tantalizing 
manner,  more  out  of  mischief  than  anything  else.     Then  Sam 
would  explode,  and  as  his  natural  speech  was  dignified  and 
slow,  in  his  efforts  to  be  emphatic  and  scathing  his  words 
would  roll  out  too  rapidly  for  proper  formation,  ending  in 
sputtering  and  stammering,  much  to  his  own  rage  and  to  the 
infinite  delight  of  his  tormentors.     Peter,  the  other  porter, 
was  a  great  husky  negro,  about  thirty  years  old,  thoroughly 
good-natured  and  reliable.     After  the  work  of  the  day  was 
done  and  the  store  about  to  close,  it  was  my  duty  to  go  with 
Peter,   in  the   one-horse   covered  wagon,    and   distribute   the 
goods  sold.    We  carried  in  small  compass  a  great  many  valu- 
able articles,  of  course,  precious  stones  and  articles  of  fine 
craftsmanship  in  gold  and  silver,  and  our  cautions  were  many 
and  frequent.     We  carried  no  arms,  and  were  frequently  out 
long  after  dark.     It  seems  to  me  now,  when  I  remember  the 
outlying   districts   into  which  we   penetrated,    districts   which 
were  dimly  lighted  and  far  from  police  aid,  that  it  is  a  won- 
der we  were  not  waylaid.     It  would  have  been  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world,  and  would  have  afforded  a  rich  harvest 
for  thieves.     On  one  occasion  I  had  a  valuable  set  of  dia- 
monds  to   deliver  to   some  persons   at  the   then   fashionable 
New  York  Hotel.     I  was  ushered  into  an  elegant  apartment 
where  were  two  ladies  and  a  man.     I  delivered  the  goods, 
and  stood,  hat  in  hand,  while  they  examined  them.    The  man, 
a  Southerner  I  judged  by  his  speech,  was  exceedingly  super- 
cilious and  mandatory.     He  expressed  a  number  of  impatient 
remarks  to  me,  expressing  dissatisfaction  with  the  goods  and 
contempt  for  the  management,  as  if  I,  a  mere  errand-boy, 
could  be  in  any  way  to  blame.     Finally  he  refused  to  accept 
the  goods  and  handed  them  back  to  me.     I  said  nothing,  but 
on  reaching  the  door,  put  on  my  hat  in  order  to  free  my  hand 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  69 

to  turn  the  knob.  Immediately  the  man  shouted,  "When  you 
are  in  a  gentleman's  apartment,  you  ought  to  know  enough  to 
keep  your  hat  off."  I  replied,  "When  I  am  in  a  gentleman's 
room,  he  takes  my  hat  and  gives  me  a  chair."  Whereupon 
our  Hotspur  started  with  the  intention  of  accelerating  my 
exit.  As  I  opened  the  door  and  glided  out,  I  saw  the  ladies 
lay  their  soft,  restraining  hands  upon  his  shoulder,  and  heard 
their  exclamations  of  reproof. 

On  another  occasion  I  was  sent  to  collect  a  bill  of  $650.00. 
The  money  was  immediately  counted  and  handed  to  me,  with 
the  request  to  verify  it.     It  was  a  big  pile,  mostly  small  bills, 
and  rather  disreputable-looking  bills,  too.     I  had  never  seen 
so  much  money  and  had  no  natural  gift  in  counting  it.     The 
position  of  a  paying  teller  would  hardly  be  in  my  line.     I  have 
never  yet  learned  to  add  very  rapidly  or  correctly.   To  this  day 
there  is  always  something  wrong  at  the  end  of  the  month  with 
my  bankbook,  so  that  now  I  try  to  have  it  written  up  very 
frequently,  in  order  that  there  shall  be  as  few  vouchers  as 
possible  to  take  care   of.      I  beheld  that  pile   of  bills  with 
alarm,  but  it  had  to  be  tackled.     I  went  through  it  once  and 
the  sum  total  was  more  than  $650.00.     I  tried  it  again  and  it 
came  out  less.     A  third  time,  perspiring  now,   and  nervous 
and  anxious,   I  tried  it.     The  dirty  bills  became  hopelessly 
crumpled,  and  in  desperation  I  said  it  was  all  right  and  signed 
a  receipt.    At  the  store  I  gave  the  money  to  the  cashier  and 
hung  anxiously  around.    After  counting  and  counting  it  again, 
he  said,   "There  is  twenty  dollars  wanting."     He  asked  me 
if  I  had  counted  it  and  I  acknowledged  that  I  had.     Of  course 
I  was  responsible  for  this  deficiency,  and  it  sent  a  cold  shiver 
down  my  back,  for  I  was  in  receipt  of  the  munificent  salary 
of  four  dollars  a  week!     However,  the  cashier  was  a  kindly 
sort  of  a  fellow,  and  suggested  that  I  go  back  and  see  if  they 
had  not  made  some  mistake.     Back  I  went  and  told  my  story, 
but  the  man  who  had  paid  me  reminded  me  somewhat  gruffly 
that  I  had  counted  the  money  and  pronounced  it  correct.     See- 
ing my  expression  of  disappointment,  his  heart  so  far  relented 
as  to  cause  him  to  say,  "You  come  back  to-morrow,  and  if  our 
account  is  twenty  dollars  over,  we  will  pay  it  to  you."     Here 
was  a  hope,  but  a  very  slight  one,  and  that  night  if  I  did  not 
dream  about  the  twenty  dollars,  I  ought  to  have  done  so. 


7o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

With  not  very  much  hope  I  presented  myself  the  next  morn- 
ing, when,  to  my  delight,  I  found  that  there  was  the  correct- 
ing over-balance  of  twenty  dollars,  which  was  promptly 
handed  to  me. 

There  was  one  other  serious  scare.  I  had  in  charge  one 
day  a  large  book  filled  with  bills  of  lading  or  memoranda.  I 
do  not  remember  very  much  about  the  details,  but  it  was  a 
very  important  book.  If  lost,  it  would  cause  many  disar- 
rangements. Upon  my  return  it  was  not  among  my  other 
packages,  and  I  was  met  with  the  cheerful  statement  that  if  it 
was  lost,  I  had  better  jump  off  the  dock.  Fortunately,  after 
going  to  this  place,  that,  and  the  other,  it  was  found. 

It  is  quite  certain  that  the  position  of  boy-of-all-work  in 
the  establishment  of  Ball,  Black  &  Company  was  no  sinecure. 
I  was  kept  busy  from  morning  until  night,  and  in  delivering 
goods,  not  infrequently  till  long  after  nightfall.  The  way  I 
did  my  work  points  a  moral  and  illustrates  a  fact.  By  nature 
I  am  not  in  any  way  orderly,  and  so  far  as  physical  work  is 
concerned,  many  would  say  that  I  was  actually  lazy.  Indeed, 
my  father  once  said  of  me  that  for  work  in  the  fields  or 
around  the  house  I  was  a  broken  reed.  This  he  said  good- 
naturedly,  and  perhaps  only  half  meant  it.  Experience  has 
taught  me  this  accusation  is  but  half  true.  I  was  the  victim 
of  a  certain  heedlessness  as  a  boy,  a  not  uncommon  trait. 
For  example,  I  was  a  wretched  hand  to  do  errands  correctly. 
If  I  were  sent  for  seven  pounds  of  sugar,  I  have  been  known 
to  come  back  with  seven  pounds  of  rice.  This  was  not  be- 
cause my  memory  was  not  sufficiently  retentive,  but  because  I 
made  no  effort  to  remember,  as  should  have  been  the  case. 
When  I  went  into  this  jewelry  store,  I  wanted  to  succeed  and 
meant  so  to  do  if  it  was  in  my  power.  Originally  there  were 
two  errand  boys,  but  when  I  entered  upon  the  scene  both  had 
been  discharged.  They  were  city-bred  boys  and  I  was  told 
it  was  difficult  to  get  good  ones.  They  loitered  by  the  way 
when  sent  out,  and  in  other  respects  were  unsatisfactory.  I 
determined  that  no  such  fault  should  be  found  with  me,  and 
so  went  and  returned  quickly.  But  that  was  not  the  most  im- 
portant of  my  duties.  I  was  burdened  with  innumerable  or- 
ders to  deliver,  and  goods  to  fetch  and  carry.  These  duties 
took  me  to  the  top  of  the  highest  buildings  and  into  the  eel- 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  71 

lars,  and  to  do  my  work  satisfactorily  it  was  quite  necessary 
that  my  mind  should  be  bright  and  active.  I  made  it  a  point 
to  remember  and  did  remember,  and  so  scored  a  success  in 
two  important  ways,  promptness  and  efficiency.  So  efficient 
was  I,  and  this  is  not  boasting,  but  a  simple  fact,  that  I  did 
the  work  of  two  boys  in  the  six  months  that  I  remained  there, 
thus  illustrating  the  correctness  of  the  old  saying  about  the 
willing  horse. 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  WAS  during  these  first  months  that  I  first  heard  that 
Boanerges  of  the  pulpit,  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  During 
the  summer  of  my  stay  in  New  York  I  very  often  made 
my  way  to  Plymouth  Church.  He  was  at  that  time  about 
forty-three  years  old,  but  to  my  young  eyes  appeared,  of 
course,  much  older.  It  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  describe 
Plymouth  Church,  and  yet  perhaps  I  may  say  something  about 
it.  Made  of  brick,  and  perfectly  plain  outside,  it  was  equally 
plain  within,  and  withal  so  comfortable  and  cozy  that  it  drew 
by  its  homelike  attractiveness.  With  its  great  gallery  and 
still  a  second  and  smaller  one,  it  comfortably  seated  from 
twenty-five  hundred  to  three  thousand  people.  Upon  cross- 
ing Fulton  Ferry  from  New  York  to  Brooklyn,  if  a  stranger 
were  to  ask  the  way  to  Beecher's  church,  he  would  be  told 
very  likely,  "Just  follow  the  crowd,"  and  in  very  truth  this 
only  was  necessary.  As  the  passengers  hurried  from  the  boat 
about  church  time,  they  formed  into  a  solid  stream,  headed 
straight  for  Plymouth  Church,  and  it  would  be  indeed  a  very 
unpleasant  day  that  these  additions  to  the  regular  congrega- 
tion would  not  fill  the  building  to  overflowing,  and  even  a 
number  be  unable  to  get  inside.  How  fortunate  we  who  were 
able  to  secure  good  seats!  It  was  an  interesting  and  inspir- 
ing sight.  Here  was  a  man  like  one  of  us,  who  for  years, 
week  after  week,  unceasingly,  was  able  to  gather  great  masses 
of  people  who  seemed  never  to  tire  of  his  ministrations.  It 
is  not  so  surprising  that  people  from  afar,  drawn  by  his  great 
reputation,  should  wish  to  see  or  to  hear  him,  but  that  the 
same  people,  the  people  of  his  regular  congregation,  year  in 
and  year  out,  from  youth  to  manhood,  to  the  end  of  life, 
should  not  have  faltered  in  their  devotion  and  admiration,  is 
one  of  the  marvels.  It  was  not  alone  due  to  the  man's  trans- 
cendent oratory,  to  his  tricks  and  gifts  of  speech.  Some  called 
him  a  buffoon,  a  trickster,  a  charlatan,  but  quackery  never 
lasts,  never  gives  birth  to  anything  permanent  or  worthy. 
There  was  a  personality  behind  the  great  powers  of  speech 
and  action  that  was  the  basis  of  his  amazing  power  and  popu- 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  73 

larity.  He  was  no  insincere  man.  He  swayed  other  men  be- 
cause he  himself  was  swayed.  He  lost  himself  in  the  glory 
of  his  work.  He  was  sincere  in  every  fibre  of  his  nature. 
There  was  no  assumption,  no  affectation,  and  no  man  ever 
lived,  it  seemed  to  me,  whose  speech  came  more  from  the 
heart  than  did  the  words  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  He  was 
a  man  of  large  courage.  No  soldier  was  ever  more  fearless, 
and  while  he  could  indulge  in  scorching  speech  and  strike 
with  the  mailed  fist  when  on  the  trail  of  injustice  and  cruelty, 
yet  his  heart  was  as  tender  as  a  child's  and  restrained  him 
from  saying  things  that  hurt  without  adequate  cause.  Be- 
fore the  opening  of  the  services  everything  was  cheery  and 
informal.  The  light  streamed  in  through  ordinary  glass  win- 
dows; there  was  the  bustle  of  the  incoming  crowd  as  they  were 
seated,  and  the  hum  of  conversation  as  friend  greeted  friend. 
At  last  comes  the  moment  when  the  church  is  filled  and  no 
more  are  admitted.  Mr.  Beecher  enters  and  seats  himself 
in  the  great  pulpit  chair.  He  gazes  benignantly  over  the 
immense  audience,  playing  gently  with  his  fingers  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair.  All  noise  ceases.  A  hymn  is  sung  by  the  choir, 
led  by  the  grand  organ.  Then  Mr.  Beecher  prayed,  and  what 
a  prayer,  and  such  a  soft,  clear,  wonderful  voice  to  give  ex- 
pression to  it !  Within  your  very  soul  you  felt  its  spontaneity. 
No  carefully  thought  out,  fine  expression  there.  He  spoke, 
out  of  his  poetic  soul,  the  thought,  the  emotion  that  actually 
filled  him,  and  so  others  gave  heed  to  him.  If  I  am  in  any 
way  a  hero-worshipper  as  to  Mr.  Beecher,  it  is  not  alone  be- 
cause he  seemed  to  be  the  greatest  orator  to  whom  I  have 
ever  listened,  but  because  he  represented  to  me  what  is  most 
God-like  in  man,  love  for  his  fellow-man,  sincerity  without 
reservation,  and  a  perfect  courage.  To  the  weak  he  was  as 
a  rock  of  defence.  As  naturally  and  as  inevitably  as  water 
seeks  its  level  he  flew  to  the  rescue  of  the  oppressed.  He 
could  not  do  otherwise.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  never  listened 
to  such  a  voice,  soft,  liquid,  persuasive;  it  soothed  and 
charmed.  And  what  a  range  there  was  to  it  when  he  arose 
to  the  full  measure  of  righteous  wrath,  in  denouncing  some 
great  cruelty  or  wrong!  It  seemed  as  if  the  pulpit  was  in 
the  way,  and  the  platform  too  small  for  him.  He  became 
a  raging  lion,  enforcing  conviction  with  foot  and  hand,  and 


74  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

every  motion  of  his  virile  and  all-alive  body;  and  when  it 
was  over,  what  a  calm  befell,  and  the  musical  cadence  of  his 
voice  seemed  a  fit  sequence  to  his  thunderous  tones.  All  over 
the  country  preachers  tried  to  imitate  him,  but  with  the  most 
sorry  success,  for  it  was  only  imitation.  There  has  been  but 
one  Beecher,  and,  indeed,  it  is  hardly  possible  that  another 
shall  come  and  speak  with  equal  effect  until  humanity  attacks 
and  masters  some  other  great  grievance  equal  to  human 
slavery. 

It  was  inevitable  that  cranks  should  make  themselves  heard 
in  such  a  popular  assemblage.  On  one  of  the  Sundays  when 
I  happened  to  be  there,  Mr.  Beecher  had  just  finished  his 
address  when  a  well-dressed  man  sitting  near  me  arose  and 
in  a  loud  voice  said,  "Mr.  Beecher,  I  would  like  to  say  that 
if  your  dinner  is  as  good  as  your  sermon,  I  would  like  to  dine 
with  you  to-day."  Ushers  started  to  put  the  man  out,  but 
Mr.  Beecher  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  pronounced  the  bene- 
diction and  the  incident  was  closed.  On  another  occasion  a 
man  in  the  gallery  started  to  go  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
sermon.  He  had  a  long  way  to  go  and  his  boots  squeaked 
terribly.  Mr.  Beecher  paused  until  the  man  had  reached  the 
door  and  passed  out,  when  he  said,  "Blessed  is  the  shoemaker 
that  maketh  shoes  that  do  not  squeak,"  and  then  continued 
his  interrupted  remarks.  Such  things  were  displeasing  to 
some  people,  who  thought  them  irreverent  and  coarse  and 
done  for  effect.  Such  an  interpretation  is  altogether  wrong. 
They  came  from  a  heart  bubbling  over  with  kindness  and 
good  will.  I  recall  the  fact  that  another  distinguished  clergy- 
man paused  in  his  sermon  to  rebuke  a  man  for  going  out. 
The  young  man  fainted.  His  physical  condition  was  the 
reason  for  his  action.  One  cannot  conceive  of  Mr.  Beecher 
being  guilty  of  such  thoughtless  remarks.  The  sense  of  hu- 
mor in  him  was  so  keen  that  when  some  friend  expostulated, 
he  replied,  "If  you  only  knew  how  much  I  keep  back." 


CHAPTER  XI 

DURING  all  that  long  summer's  stay  in  the  great  city  I 
never  ceased  longing  for  the  country,  and  had  it  still 
in  mind  that  I  would  like  to  study.  I  had  never  before 
spent  more  than  a  few  days  in  town,  and  whenever  I  passed 
some  little  public  park  with  its  grass  and  shady  trees,  the  de- 
sire to  get  away  from  the  hot  pavements  and  noisy  streets 
became  almost  imperative.  One  morning  in  October  my 
brother  came  into  the  store  and  said  that  if  I  wished  to  do 
so,  I  might  give  up  my  position,  return  to  New  Canaan,  and 
take  his  place  in  the  school  as  assistant  to  my  father.  The 
break  in  my  relations  with  Ball,  Black  &  Company  went  into 
effect  after  some  bungling  maneuvering  on  my  part,  but  it 
illustrates  that  even  the  boy  who  runs  errands  does  not  escape 
the  watchful  eye  of  his  employer.  It  was  on  a  Friday  morn- 
ing that  I  went  to  that,  to  me,  austere  man,  Mr.  Ball,  and 
confided  to  him  the  fact  that  I  had  decided  to  leave.  As  I 
have  already  recorded,  the  only  time  that  he  had  ever  spoken 
to  me  was  on  the  day,  six  months  before,  when  I  entered  upon 
my  duties.  Mr.  Black  also  had  very  little  to  say  to  me,  and 
of  this  I  did  not  complain,  for  when  he  did  speak,  it  was  gen- 
erally to  find  some  fault.  I  was  blacking  my  shoes  in  the 
basement  one  day,  for  example,  when  he  told  me  I  ought  to 
brush  the  dust  off  first,  and  that  I  had  put  on  too  much  black- 
ing, all  of  which  may  have  been  perfectly  true.  Another  time 
he  sent  me  to  the  train  to  save  a  seat  for  him.  Every  Saturday 
in  summer  he  went  to  his  country  place  in  Southport,  Connecti- 
cut. I  found  a  good  seat  and  waited  patiently  for  the  coming 
of  the  great  man.  It  seemed,  however,  that  I  had  selected  a 
seat  on  what  would  be  the  sunny  side  of  the  car  when  it  got 
into  the  open.  It  was  a  hot  day  and  Mr.  Black  was  a  fat  man, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  his  look,  his  gesture  and  expression  of 
disgust  when  he  took  in  the  situation.  He  thought  it  was  very 
stupid,  but  how  was  I  to  know  about  a  sunny  or  a  shady  side  in 
that  darkened  building  far  downtown?  Mr.  Monroe,  the 
other  partner,  was  more  talkative  and  outwardly  genial,  and 
yet  as  I  now  think  of  the  three  men,  Mr.  Ball,  the  austere, 

75 


76  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

seems  to  me,  in  all  the  essentials  that  go  to  make  up  character, 
to  have  been  a  higher  type  than  the  other  two. 

I  saw  the  tall  form  of  Mr.  Ball  in  the  rear  of  the  store  lean- 
ing against  the  counter,  looking  around  as  if  he  were  monarch 
of  all  he  surveyed.  Hesitatingly  I  approached  and  told  him 
that  I  had  concluded  to  give  up  my  place  and  go  home.  He 
expressed  surprise,  and  to  my  astonishment,  some  disappoint- 
ment. I  had  supposed  that  he  would  offer  no  objection  and 
would  hardly  deign  to  more  than  briefly  accept  my  resig- 
nation, but  he  seemed  to  take  a  great  interest  in  this  decision 
of  mine  and  said  he  hoped  I  would  reconsider  my  determina- 
tion. He  was  good  enough  to  say  that  I  had  performed  my 
duties  satisfactorily,  my  promotion  was  assured  and  I  had 
better  think  it  over.  I  felt  very  much  flattered.  Here  was 
the  great  man  of  whom  I  had  always  stood  in  awe,  talking 
to  me  in  genial  friendly  tones  and  practically  begging  me  not 
to  give  up  my  situation.  I  again  felt  my  importance  just  as 
I  had  felt  it  six  months  before,  when  I  had  warned  the  driver 
who  drove  me  to  the  train  not  to  be  late.  I  could  not  resist 
Mr.  Ball's  persuasive  manner,  and  much  against  my  will 
agreed  to  stay.  After  sleeping  upon  my  decision  I  found  my- 
self regretting  it,  and  determined  to  go  to  Mr.  Ball  and  tell 
him  so,  but  the  day  was  Saturday  and  I  remembered  that  the 
head  of  the  firm  always  spent  the  day  at  his  country  place  at 
Newburgh.  The  distastefulness  of  my  occupation  grew  upon 
me,  and  I  could  no  longer  wait,  so  as  soon  as  Mr.  Black  came 
in  I  went  to  him.  He  dealt  with  me  in  no  such  persuasive  and 
courteous  way  as  had  Mr.  Ball.  No  gleam  of  friendly  com- 
radeship or  appreciative  recognition  of  services  rendered 
illumined  his  somewhat  dull  and  forbidding  expression.  He, 
as  well  as  Mr.  Ball,  knew  that  I  had  efficiently  done  the  work 
of  two  boys  through  a  hot  and  trying  summer,  besides  ridding 
them  of  a  lot  of  annoyance  in  having  two  careless  and  lazy 
city  boys  around,  as  had  been  their  former  experience,  instead 
of  one  conscientious,  busy  and  exact  country  boy.  Besides,  had 
I  not  saved  the  great  firm  of  Ball,  Black  and  Company  ex- 
actly one  hundred  dollars  in  money?  He,  therefore,  heard 
me  crossly  and  said  that  I  couldn't  go,  that  at  all  events  I  must 
not  go  until  I  had  spoken  again  to  Mr.  Ball.  I  then  deter- 
mined that  I  would  not  again  encounter  Mr.   Ball.      I  was 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  77 

afraid  he  would  prove  too  much  for  me  and  determined  on  the 
coming  morning,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  to  get  out.  As  I 
have  said,  some  of  us  slept  in  the  store  and  I  was  among  the 
number.  Sunday  evening  I  packed  my  small  trunk  and  the 
next  morning  arose  early  and  prepared  to  leave.  My  brother 
was  not  yet  out  of  his  bed,  and  when  he  saw  my  purpose  he 
was  very  much  surprised  and  indignant.  He  vigorously  pro- 
tested, but  to  no  purpose.  I  scented  the  call  of  the  country, 
the  school,  and  old  friends,  and  it  was  irresistible.  I  can  still 
hear  my  brother's  voice  warning  me  as  I  dragged  my  small 
trunk  down  the  stairs  and  to  the  sidewalk,  and  as  often  as  I 
pass  245  Broadway  I  look  down  upon  the  pavement  and 
wonder  upon  just  what  spot  rested  the  trunk.  The  iron  shut- 
ters were  but  halfway  up  as  I  emerged,  and  the  watchman, 
whom  I  knew,  said,  "Where  are  you  going?"  I  told  him  that  I 
was  going  home.  "But,"  he  said,  "you  can't  take  a  trunk 
out  of  the  store  this  time  of  the  morning."  "I  am  going  any- 
way," was  my  reply,  "and  you  can't  stop  me."  The  possibility 
of  my  being  able  in  this  manner  to  get  away  with  thousands 
of  dollars'  worth  of  valuables  did  not  in  my  innocence  occur  to 
me,  and  so  we  argued.  Just  then  a  policeman  sauntered  up, 
an  amused  spectator  of  the  scene.  Putting  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  with  a  good-natured  smile  he  said,  "Well,  sonny, 
I  guess  we're  too  many  for  you."  This  was  beginning  to  be 
painfully  clear  to  me,  so  dragging  my  trunk  back  into  the 
store,  away  I  started  for  the  train.  It  will  interest  present- 
day  folks  to  know  that  the  station  of  the  New  York  and  New 
Haven  Railroad  was  then  at  Canal  Street  and  Broadway. 
The  cars  were  drawn  by  four  horses  through  Canal  Street  to 
the  Bowery,  up  that  avenue  through  Fourth  Avenue  to 
Twenty-seventh  Street,  where  the  engine  was  hitched  on. 
Later  the  station  was  at  Fourth  Avenue  and  Twenty-seventh 
Street,  the  cars  then  being  pulled  to  Forty-second  Street  where 
the  engine  was  awaiting  it.  Away  we  went  and  as  I  looked  out 
of  the  window  to  the  West,  I  could  see  the  still  crude,  unfin- 
ished Central  Park.  The  streets  were  filled  in,  but  there  were 
few  buildings;  the  whole  section  above  Thirty-fourth  Street, 
or  at  least  Forty-second  Street,  looking  like  a  huge  checker- 
board, the  squares  being  represented  by  deep  depressions, 
which  after  rains  afforded  miniature  ponds  for  the  boys  to  sail 


7 8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

their  improvised  rafts,  and  which  were  also  the  universal 
dumping  grounds  as  well.  Even  from  the  high  ground  of  Cen- 
tral Park  the  squatters  had  not  yet  all  fled,  and  goats  were 
still  silhouetted  on  the  rocky  hills  just  as  they  continued  to  be 
seen  for  many  a  year  as  the  onward  progress  of  the  town 
drove  them  northward.  We  passed  through  the  low-lying, 
straggling  settlement  of  Harlem,  where  in  after  years  I  was  to 
begin  my  professional  career  and  find  my  wife,  beloved  part- 
ner of  my  joys  and  sorrows  through  all  these  many  years. 

The  first  real  sense  of  relief  and  assured  freedom  came  to 
me  as  we  sped  over  the  Harlem  River.  I  was  now  fairly 
away  from  Manhattan  Island,  out  of  the  town  and  in  the 
broad,  beautiful  country.  Soon  we  came  to  the  Bronx,  not 
then  as  now,  a  dirty  stream,  contaminated  by  the  touch  of  a 
dense  population,  but  still  retaining  all  its  primal,  limpid  pur- 
ity. The  hand  of  autumn  was  just  beginning  to  touch  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  and  in  full  measure  I  gloried  in  these  re- 
minders of  what  I  had  enjoyed  and  what  I  was  again  to  enjoy 
after  six  months  of  hot  pavements  and  dusty  streets.  After 
getting  to  New  Canaan  I  felt  somewhat  as  a  man  who  has 
seen  the  world  returning  to  his  native  town.  I  was  conscious 
of  a  new  touch  of  importance,  as  if  I  had  advanced  a  grade. 
In  the  little  thing  that  I  had  attempted  I  had  certainly  made 
good,  and  by  just  so  much  better  fitted  for  the  steps  in  life 
before  me,  whatever  they  were  to  be.  All  such  experiences 
alter  one's  perspective.  The  point  of  view  is  not  exactly  the 
same.  The  vision  had  enlarged,  as  shown  by  a  purely  physical 
illustration.  The  next  morning  I  accompanied  my  mother  to 
my  uncle's  store,  so  familiar  to  me  through  all  my  boyish 
years.  It  was  the  same,  yet  not  the  same.  Everything  had 
contracted.  The  building  was  narrower  and  shorter,  the  ceil- 
ing, very  low,  and  as  I  remarked  this,  my  cousin,  the  pro- 
prietor, in  a  tone  that  seemed  to  resent  any  such  insinuation, 
replied  that  he  guessed  that  it  was  big  enough.  The  clerks, 
too,  seemed  less  important,  and  I  noted,  also,  that  their  dress 
appeared  more  common  and  slovenly  than  before  I  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FOR  a  year  after  returning  home  I  was  an  assistant  to  my 
father  in  the  school.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  was  not  a 
particularly  good  teacher,  but  I  do  not  recall  that  any 
such  suggestion  was  ever  made.  On  the  other  hand,  he  never 
specially  commended  me,  so  it  may  perhaps  be  inferred  that 
I  did  about  as  well  as  the  average.  I  am  sure,  however,  that 
I  was  not  nearly  as  thorough  as  was  he.  Occasionally  I  was 
left  alone  to  carry  on  the  exercises.  At  such  times  the  wheels 
of  the  curriculum  rolled  with  unaccustomed  speed,  and  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  boys,  when  they  found  that  this  stirring 
up  of  activities  meant  an  earlier  release  and  a  longer  time  for 
play.  I  was  very  much  of  a  boy,  little  older  than  some  whom 
I  taught,  and  was  quite  as  glad  as  they  to  get  out  of  doors. 
What  tricks  memory  plays  us.  The  events  of  my  life  before 
and  after  this  time,  the  year  that  I  spent  in  teaching  before 
going  away  from  home,  were  fairly  well  engraven  upon  my 
mind,  as  has  and  will  be  seen,  but  the  doings  and  remem- 
brances of  this  particular  year  have  mostly  faded  from  my 
recollection.  Almost  every  incident  connected  with  this  year 
of  useful  work  has  been  buried  in  oblivion,  and  yet  some  long- 
forgotten  acquaintances  come  to  my  mind. 

The  Episcopal  rector  then  was  a  Mr.  Williams.  He  was, 
I  should  say,  under  thirty,  a  tall,  manly-looking  man.  I 
thought  him  a  fine  preacher  and  as  he  was  fond  of  having  me 
come  to  his  study  and  talk,  treating  me  in  all  respects  as  an 
equal.  I  felt  quite  flattered.  I  had  aspirations  and  was  glad 
to  encourage  them  by  contact  with  an  older  and  superior  mind. 
One  Christmas  day  I  remember  well.  The  church  had  been 
beautifully  decorated,  and  in  helping  the  girls  of  the  parish  in 
the  work,  I  first  appreciated  strongly  the  attractions  of  sex, 
and  to  this  day  the  odor  of  the  Christmas  pines  suggests  the 
boyish  romance  or  romantic  stirrings  of  these  early  days.  In 
the  evening  Mr.  Williams  preached  what  seemed  to  me  a  most 
eloquent  and  moving  sermon.  His  sonorous  tones  and  many 
gestures  deeply  affected  me,  and  I  gave  him  the  credit  of  high 
eloquence.     In  the  light  of  more  mature  years,  however,  as  I 

79 


80  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

look  back  and  recall  dimly  some  of  the  things  he  said  and 
especially  about  himself,  I  am  constrained  to  put  him  in  not 
quite  such  an  exalted  position  and  to  account  for  his  influence 
over  me  more  by  his  self-assertiveness  and  physical  superiority 
than  by  any  extraordinary  mental  attainment.  He  had  the  en- 
dowment of  personality,  but  it  was  more  the  physical  than  the 
intellectual  or  spiritual,  if  I  do  not  misjudge  him. 

I  recall  with  a  smile  an  incident  that  occurred  about  this 
time.  My  mother  and  I  happened  to  be  alone  in  the  big  house 
one  night,  when  a  little  after  midnight  I  was  awakened  by 
something  pattering  against  the  window-pane  and  by  voices 
softly  calling.  I  arose,  went  to  the  window,  and  looking  down, 
distinguished  several  of  the  neighbors,  one  of  them  being  my 
old  friend,  Joe  Silliman.  They  whispered  up  that  they  believed 
there  were  burglars  in  the  house,  and  as  I  visualize  them  now 
as  I  saw  them  then,  grasping  their  weapons,  one  with  a  pitch- 
fork, another  with  an  ax,  and  the  others  with  equally  primi- 
tive warlike  instruments,  I  smile  and  smile  again.  The  moon 
was  at  its  full,  and  all  was  bright  without,  but  within  all  was 
dark  and  still.  They  beckoned  me  to  come  down  and  let  them 
in.  Now  my  later  belief  is,  and  probably  it  was  my  belief  even 
then,  that  it  is  better  not  to  force  thieves  from  your  house  in 
the  middle  of  the  night.  They  have  every  advantage  and  you 
must  go  to  work  cautiously  and  not  make  yourself  a  shining 
light  for  attack,  and  so  I  hesitated  to  go  out  into  the  dark  hall 
and  down  the  dark  stairs  with  thieves  in  waiting  to  take  my 
blood.  As  I  hesitated,  one  of  those  outside  asked  me  if  I  was 
armed.  What  a  question  to  bolster  up  one's  waning  courage. 
I  acknowledged  falteringly  that  I  was  not.  They  urged  me 
to  come  down  and  let  them  in,  and  so  rather  hesitatingly,  not 
wishing  to  seem  cowardly  in  their  eyes,  I  opened  the  door, 
and  groped  my  way  blindly  through  the  wide,  dark  hall,  down 
the  stairs  to  the  front  door.  I  got  through  unscathed,  and 
opening  the  door,  met  my  rescuers,  standing  as  if  in  battle 
array  with  weapons  ready  for  immediate  execution.  After  a 
short  parley,  they  all  entered  and  I  hunted  up  a  candle.  The 
grim  search  began,  but  in  going  over  the  house  from  garret 
to  cellar,  we  found  no  trace  of  burglars.  It  now  occurred  to 
me  to  ask  them  why  they  thought  there  were  thieves  in  the 
house.     The  explanation  was  simple.     The  servants  who  slept 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  81 

on  the  first  floor  in  the  rear  heard  noises  as  if  someone  was 
trying  to  take  out  a  pane  of  glass,  and  in  their  unreasoning 
terror  they  rushed  out  of  the  back  door  in  their  nightdresses 
and  made  for  the  nearest  house  with  a  blood-curdling  tale  that 
burglars  had  broken  into  the  house  and  might  murder  us  all. 
I  may  add  that  throughout  the  acting  of  this  bit  of  farce,  my 
mother  slept  peacefully,  a  silent  tribute  to  our  stealthy  doings. 
Not  long  after  I  gave  up  my  position  in  New  York,  I  had 
occasion  to  go  back  to  town  for  a  day.  I  went  into  the  store 
to  see  my  brother,  and  was  greeted  cordially  by  the  salesmen. 
I  wanted  to  write  a  letter  and  was  given  pen  and  paper,  and, 
very  much  at  home,  began  to  write  in  the  rear  of  the  store.  I 
was  interrupted  by  the  approach  of  Mr.  Black.  His  look  was 
far  from  cordial  and  he  abruptly  said,  "I  shouldn't  think  you'd 
make  this  your  headquarters  after  the  way  you  left  us,"  and 
turned  away.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  just  as  well  if  I 
had  not  made  myself  quite  so  much  at  home. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

1WAS  now  seventeen  years  old  and  my  father  finally  agreed 
to  a  college  career  for  me.  I  preferred  Yale,  and  as  a 
second  choice  Trinity,  but  Kenyon  was  finally  selected. 
The  reasons  for  the  selection  of  Kenyon  were,  I  think,  these: 
Yale  would  be  perhaps  too  demoralizing,  and  Kenyon  was 
then  what  was  termed  a  Low  Church  institution,  which  quite 
suited  my  father's  idea  of  churchmanship.  Aside  from  that, 
he  had  known  the  president  of  the  college  when  he  was  super- 
intendent of  the  schools  of  Ohio,  and  greatly  admired  him. 
His  name  was  Lorin  Andrews.  I  have  a  small  picture  of  this 
man  taken  in  the  crude  manner  of  the  time.  It  has  been  in 
my  possession  since  the  year  1858.  During  these  years  I  have 
taken  absolutely  no  care  of  it.  In  all  my  movings  there  was 
no  thought  of  it,  and  while  many  things  have  disappeared 
which  I  would  give  much  to  possess  again,  this  picture  of  the 
good  president  has  refused  to  be  lost.  He  was  one  of  the 
first  to  offer  his  services  to  his  country  in  the  Civil  War,  and 
within  a  few  months  died  of  disease. 

It  was  in  the  autumn  of  1857  tnat  Wlt^  mY  father  and 
mother  I  joyfully  started  to  enter  what  was  to  me  another 
world.  A  new  trunk  was  bought  and  in  it  was  packed  my  out- 
fit for  the  coming  year,  with  all  the  care  and  completeness  of 
which  a  mother  is  capable,  for  I  was  not  expected  to  return 
home  until  the  long  summer  vacation  of  1858.  There  were 
no  sleeping  cars  in  those  days,  but  the  seats  were  very  com- 
fortable, with  head  rests,  and  we  got  along  very  well.  We 
went  to  Cleveland  and  stopped  at  the  Weddell  House  over 
night.  On  the  way  we  had  quite  an  accident.  In  the  early 
morning,  while  going  through  the  town  of  Corning,  we  struck 
a  locomotive  standing  in  our  way  and  sent  it  flying  rapidly 
down  the  track.  Fortunately  the  steam  gave  out  before  it 
met  any  approaching  train.  We  were  not  so  fortunate.  Our 
locomotive  and  baggage  car  were  derailed,  resulting  in  the 
death  of  the  engineer,  while  the  baggage  car  with  its  contents 
was  pretty  well  smashed,  including  my  trunk.  Fortunately 
it  had  a  stout  canvas  covering  which  preserved  my  clothes  in 

82 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  83 

good  measure.  We  bought  a  new  trunk,  repacked  it,  and  by 
afternoon  were  again  on  our  way.  From  Cleveland  we  took 
the  train  south  for  Gambier,  or  rather  Mount  Vernon,  and 
thence  five  miles  to  the  college  town. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  pleasing  impression  made  by  the 
little  town  of  Gambier.  The  stately  old  college,  with  a  few 
other  buildings  nestled  together  on  the  commanding  site  of 
Gambier  Hill,  made  up  a  charming  picture  of  rural  and  scho- 
lastic simplicity.  The  venerable  college  had  and  still  has  a 
veritable  old-time  English  setting.  It  is  a  massive  Gothic 
structure  of  stone,  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet  long  and  three 
stories  high,  with  solid  stone  walls,  four  and  one-half  feet 
thick  at  the  basement,  and  is  surmounted  by  a  spire  one  hun- 
dred and  ten  feet  high.  Two-thirds  of  a  mile  away,  the  two 
connected  by  a  broad  walk  called  the  Middle  Path,  is  Bexley 
Hall,  the  theological  seminary,  and  architecturally  as  beauti- 
ful as  the  old  college  itself.  Other  buildings  there  were,  too, 
Rosse  Chapel,  Ascension  Hall,  Milnor  Hall.  The  plateau  on 
which  the  college  and  village  are  situated  rises  about  two 
hundred  feet  above  the  valley  of  the  Kokosing  River,  which 
flows  around  it  on  three  sides. 

This  institution  of  Bishop  Chase,  its  founder,  has  an  inter- 
esting history.  Early  in  the  nineteenth  century  the  bishop 
went  to  England  to  collect  funds  for  its  endowment.  Various 
eminent  men  in  this  country  were  interested,  and  notably 
Henry  Clay.  The  bishop  was  received  abroad  with  favor, 
and  returned  with  forty  thousand  dollars,  a  large  sum  for  that 
time.  This  explains  the  English  names.  The  town  is  named 
for  Lord  Gambier,  Kenyon  for  Lord  Kenyon,  Bexley  Hall  for 
Lord  Bexley,  and  Rosse  Chapel  for  Lady  Rosse.  With  this 
forty  thousand  dollars  the  bishop  immediately  purchased  eight 
thousand  acres  of  land  and  proceeded  to  erect  the  college 
building.  This  was  in  1828.  Ohio  was  a  western  state, 
sparsely  inhabited,  with  its  pioneer  settlers  mostly  living  in 
log  cabins.  The  Indians  roamed  freely  about,  but  were  as  a 
rule  harmless.  Can  anyone  imagine  anything  more  incongru- 
ous than  this  stately  old  building  suddenly  going  up  in  the 
wilderness  where  Indians  still  roamed  and  wild  animals  had 
their  home?  The  rude  inhabitants  wondered  and  speculated  as 
it  began  to  rise  on  its  foundations.    This  happened  not  so  very 


84  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

long  after  the  war  of  1812,  and  it  was  rumored,  so  the  story 
goes,  that  the  English  had  bought  this  land  and  that  the  build- 
ing was  to  be  in  reality  a  fort  for  their  benefit  on  some  future 
occasion.  Then  followed  the  other  buildings  in  excellent  taste 
and  design,  and  the  romance  of  Kenyon  College  began,  for 
about  the  old  institution  there  is  a  certain  romance  lovingly 
held  by  all  her  sons.  It  is  different  from  other  small  colleges 
of  its  kind,  different  in  its  history,  its  beginnings,  its  setting 
and  local  charm.  There  is  a  quaintness  about  the  buildings  of 
1828  that  is  neither  seen  nor  felt  in  the  later  and  perhaps 
smarter  acquisitions.  Some  years  ago,  for  the  first  time  in 
nearly  half  a  century,  I  revisited  my  Alma  Mater.  Various 
fine  new  buildings  had  been  erected  since  my  time,  but  I  had 
eyes  only  for  dear  old  Kenyon. 

To  return  to  that  October  day  in  1857,  the  day  of  my 
arrival.  We  put  up  at  Riley's  Tavern,  where  a  good  many 
of  the  college  boys  took  their  meals.  I  observed  them  with 
interest,  but  they  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  me.  I  was  not 
even  to  enter  as  a  freshman,  but  had  yet  before  me  two  years 
of  preparatory  work.  Two  years  ago  I  met  at  Pittsburgh  one 
of  those  old  college  boys,  Jack  Harper  by  name.  I  had  not 
seen  him  for  fifty  years,  but  he  well  remembered  my  entry  on 
the  scene  of  Kenyon  life.  At  the  dinner  I  was  sitting  by  my 
mother,  he  tells  me,  and  after  finishing  my  pie  I  asked  her  if 
I  could  not  have  another  piece.  I,  of  course,  remember  noth- 
ing about  this,  but  the  incident  gave  to  me,  in  Harper's  mind, 
an  immortal  remembrance.  The  acquisition  of  a  new  student 
in  those  days  was  a  matter  of  congratulation,  especially  one 
coming  from  so  great  a  distance.  We  dined,  I  remember,  with 
Professor  Lang,  and  at  the  president's  house  met  a  number 
of  the  professors. 

Imagine  a  student  in  these  days  going  to  Yale  or  Harvard 
thus  being  taken  notice  of  by  the  faculty!  A  boarding  place 
was  found  for  me  in  the  house  of  Rev.  Mr.  Strong,  employed 
by  the  church  to  travel  and  preach  in  its  interests.  His  main 
duty  was  to  seek  out  worthy,  poor  young  men  and  induce  them 
to  study  for  the  ministry.  These  men  were  called  "bene- 
ficiaries." Some  succeeded  in  getting  an  education  gratis,  and 
then  failed  to  carry  out  their  contract,  entering  on  a  secular 
career.     It  seems  to  me  that  the  system  was  all  wrong,  and  I 


Hi 

M 

& 
o 

w 
M 

Q 

Hi 

o 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  85 

imagine  that  it  has  been  in  a  good  measure  abandoned.  The 
ministry  is  already  too  well-filled  with  mediocre  men,  due 
partially  to  the  fact  that  the  ministry  is  generally  decided  upon 
when  the  mind  is  still  unformed,  and  the  emotion  rather  than 
the  reason  dominates.  Some  excellent  men  were  gathered  by 
Father  Strong,  but  I  also  call  to  mind  some  very  shabby  mate- 
rial that  no  amount  of  education  could  transform  into  an 
adornment  of  the  pulpit. 

The  preparatory  department  of  Kenyon  College,  where  I 
was  to  spend  two  years,  was  in  Milnor  Hall,  long  since  de- 
stroyed by  fire.  Later  I  left  Mrs.  Strong's  and  had  my  room 
in  the  Hall.  My  roommate  at  Strong's  was  an  Indian  (Mo- 
hawk) named  Oronhyateka,  or  Burning  Sky,  but  his  English 
name  was  less  euphonious,  homely  Peter  Martin.  This  name, 
however,  he  never  used.  He  claimed  to  be  a  chief  and  a 
descendant  of  the  famous  Brant.  Indeed  he  was  in  possession 
of  a  tomahawk  which  he  claimed  had  come  down  to  him  from 
that  celebrated  chieftain.  Oronhyateka  was  a  large,  splendid- 
looking  fellow,  but  entirely  lacking  in  the  high  cheek  bone 
and  some  other  characteristics  of  the  full-blooded  Indian. 
Nothing,  however,  more  excited  his  wrath  than  to  suggest  such 
a  thing.  What  a  head  he  had !  It  was  so  large  that  he  could 
buy  no  ready-made  hat  to  fit  him.  He  had  a  quick  wit  and  a 
memory  that  was  phenomenal,  so  that  in  a  pinch  when  he  had 
failed  to  get  his  Latin  or  Greek,  five  minutes'  reading  from  a 
"pony"  would  enable  him  to  pass  as  readily  as  any  of  the 
others.  Like  a  true  Indian  he  was  fond  of  jokes  and  was  not 
slow  in  perpetrating  them.  Next  to  us  roomed  a  man  named 
Humphrey.  One  evening  Oronhyateka  came  in  rather  late 
and  proceeded  to  perpetrate  a  joke  on  his  neighbor.  In  the 
meantime,  however,  a  man  named  Marsh  and  his  wife  had 
arrived  from  Boston,  and  taken  possession  of  Humphrey's 
room.  Our  Indian,  all  unaware  of  the  change,  grabbed  his 
tomahawk,  and  crawled  on  hands  and  knees,  to  "scare 
Humphrey."  The  moon  was  shining  brightly  and  as  Oron- 
hyateka suddenly  arose  with  weapon  in  hand  to  utter  his  war 
whoop,  a  female  voice  exclaimed,  "Who's  there?"  Oron- 
hyateka, taken  by  surprise,  faltered  out,  "Doesn't  Mr. 
Humphrey  room  here?"  and  incontinently  fled.  Mr.  Marsh 
through  it  all  slept  on,  but  as  he  was  a  man  of  great  strength 


86  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

and  determination,  as  I  found  later,  there  might  have  been  a 
serious  tussle  had  he  awakened.  Oronhyateka  was  crestfallen 
enough,  and  vented  a  large  amount  of  abuse  on  me  for  not 
telling  him  of  the  changed  conditions. 

In  the  hot  summer  days  a  favorite  peculiarity  of  Oron- 
hyateka was  to  study  with  his  feet  in  a  tub  of  cold  water.  He 
wore  a  long  tail  coat  of  ancient  type  which  had  seen  much 
service.  Our  house  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Mil- 
nor  Hall,  the  bell  of  which  rang  five  minutes  before  morning 
prayers.  On  many  occasions  we  were  yet  in  bed  when  the  bell 
began  to  ring  and  yet  we  succeeded  in  getting  into  our  clothes 
and  covering  that  quarter  of  a  mile  in  the  allotted  five  minutes. 
One  morning,  however,  we  were  not  so  fortunate.  We  had 
almost  reached  the  goal,  but  I  was  a  little  behind,  and  stretch- 
ing out  my  hand  grabbed  my  companion's  coat  tail.  He 
forged  ahead.  There  was  a  sound  of  ripping  and  one  of  the 
tails  of  the  rotten  coat  was  left  in  my  hand.  We  suddenly 
halted,  one  tail  hanging  in  its  place,  but  revealing  a  patch 
where  the  other  tail  should  have  hung.  Oronhyateka's  indig- 
nation was  great,  almost  unspeakable,  greater  even  than  when 
I  allowed  him  to  go  into  Humphrey's  room  and  play  wild  In- 
dian,— and  if  he  had  had  at  hand  his  great  ancestor's  weapon, 
he  might  have  brained  and  scalped  me  then  and  there. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  say  that  prayers  went  on  with- 
out us  that  morning,  while  we  sadly  wended  our  way  home- 
ward. During  a  recent  visit  to  Kenyon,  I  walked  over  the 
same  road  and  halted  almost  at  the  exact  spot  of  the  episode 
and  could  see,  as  if  with  the  eye  of  yesterday,  every  detail  of 
the  ludicrous  happening.  After  graduation  Oronhyateka  de- 
clined to  study  for  the  ministry  and  went  to  his  home  in 
Canada.  About  this  time  the  Prince  of  Wales  came  here  and 
in  the  course  of  his  wanderings  visited  this  Indian  tribe,  on 
which  occasion  Oronhyateka  was  selected  to  make  the  speech 
of  welcome.  The  Prince  was  so  well  pleased  that  under  his 
auspices  he  was  sent  to  Oxford,  where  he  spent  two  years. 
Returning  home  he  studied  medicine,  but  as  he.  admitted  to 
me  years  later  he  humbugged  the  people,  who  thought  him,  as 
an  Indian,  possessed  of  special  knowledge  of  the  efficacy  of 
herbs.  He  finally  became  the  head  of  the  Royal  Order  of 
Foresters,  with  headquarters  at  Toronto,   Canada.     Almost 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  87 

everybody  in  the  Provinces,  as  I  found,  had  heard  of  Oronhy- 
ateka,  but  not  all  by  any  means  favorably.  With  what  meas- 
ure of  justice  some  measure  of  disparagement  was  connected 
with  his  name,  I  cannot  say.  That  he  was  to  a  certain  extent 
a  charlatan  cannot  be  doubted,  but  he  possessed  abilities  and 
graces,  too,  not  always  directed  to  the  highest  end. 

After  a  stay  of  six  months  at  Mr.  Strong's  I  took  quarters 
at  Milnor  Hall  for  the  last  eighteen  months'  preparation. 
As  I  remember  them  they  were  exceedingly  pleasant  months, 
and  yet  the  details  of  my  stay  there  are  not  altogether  clear 
to  my  mind.  I  can  yet  see  the  old  classroom  and  the  compact, 
vigorous  form  of  Mr.  Lathrop,  the  principal,  and  can  call  to 
mind  various  forms  and  faces  as  I  saw  them  from  day  to  day. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  Christmas  vacation  saw  me  on  the  way  to  Milan, 
Ohio,  to  visit  my  uncle,  Philo  Comstock  and  family. 
I  had  heard  so  much  about  them  and  the  place  from 
my  mother  that  I  was  delighted  to  go.  In  1828,  my  mother, 
then  a  girl  of  sixteen,  and  this  brother,  some  years  older, 
went  to  Milan,  Ohio,  to  settle  upon  land  owned  by  the  family. 
This  land  was  given  to  my  great-grandfather  Comstock  for 
services  rendered  the  soldiers  of  the  Revolution.  They 
started  from  New  Canaan,  going  by  sloop  from  Norwalk  to 
New  York,  and  thence  up  the  Hudson  to  Albany.  From 
Albany  they  went  by  canal  boat  to  Buffalo,  by  stage  through 
the  wilderness  to  Cleveland,  and  then  to  Norwalk,  fifty  miles 
further  on.  Thus  leaving  one  Norwalk  in  Connecticut,  they 
finally,  after  a  month  or  more  of  journeying,  reached 
a  still  more  primitive  Norwalk  in  Ohio.  While  the  farm  was 
in  Norwalk,  but  some  four  miles  distant  from  its  village,  it 
was  only  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Milan,  so  the  family  always 
went  to  church  there,  did  their  shopping  and  had  their  social 
relations  there.  In  the  time  of  my  mother,  however,  this 
region  was  the  far  West,  and  it  is  interesting  to  note  that 
their  little  four  room  frame  house  was  the  only  one  of  its 
kind  in  all  that  region.  The  settlers  were  widely  scattered  and 
lived  in  log  houses.  This  experience  might  seem  hard  now, 
but  I  have  often  thought  of  its  rich  and  varied  compensation. 
The  two  thus  starting  out  together  were  young  and  in  high 
health.  The  world  was  all  before  them  and  they  found  new 
sights  and  scenes.  The  sail  down  the  Sound  then  was  almost 
equal  to  a  trip  to  Europe  now;  and  how  they  must  have 
reveled  in  the  grand  and  rugged  scenery  of  the  Hudson  and  in 
the  pastoral  beauty  along  its  banks  as  they  emerged  from  its 
rocky  fastnesses.  I  can  imagine  them  looking  wonderingly  at 
the  far-away,  beautiful  Catskills,  not  yet  rendered  increasingly 
famous  by  the  creation  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  Albany  must 
have  been  a  little  town,  yet  a  city  to  their  eyes.  The  Erie 
Canal  had  been  but  recently  completed  and  on  this  new  kind 
of  communication  they  embarked  to  cover  slowly  the  miles 

88 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  89 

through  what  had  once  been  and  was  still  in  great  measure  the 
pathless  woods.  It  was  an  experience  that  my  mother,  the 
young  girl  Betty,  never  forgot.  She  was  never  tired  of  telling 
about  it  and  how  they  wandered  in  the  woods  along  the  sides 
of  the  canal,  happy  as  the  day  was  long  in  joys  and  anticipa- 
tions. She  stayed  with  her  brother  two  years  until  his 
marriage,  when  at  the  age  of  eighteen  she  returned  home, 
and  two  years  later  married  my  father.  These  two  years 
were  years  of  work  for  both  of  them,  but  she  enjoyed  the 
rough  life.  She  did  not,  however,  so  much  enjoy  the 
Indians.  They  were  for  the  most  part  an  idle,  harmless 
set,  but  when  sometimes  looking  up  from  her  work,  she  saw 
two  or  three  savage  faces  looking  in,  with  their  noses  flattened 
against  the  window,  it  was  no  pleasing  sensation.  There  were 
wild-cats,  wolves,  and  bears,  and  the  howling  of  the  wolves 
around  the  house  at  night  always  alarmed  her,  especially  if 
alone,  as  she  sometimes  was.  On  one  occasion  the  cattle  were 
stampeded,  and,  without  coming  into  the  house,  her  brother 
leaped  on  a  horse  and  went  after  them,  and  was  gone  three 
days.  During  those  days  and  nights  she  was,  of  course,  alone, 
to  hear  the  cries  of  wild  animals;  and  dreary  enough  the 
nights  must  have  been,  though  behind  stout  doors. 

Another  and  more  pleasing  experience  was  the  sight  of 
great  flocks  of  migrating  birds  and  of  the  gentler  inhabitants 
of  the  woods  and  trees.  The  wild  turkeys  were  plentiful  and 
the  pigeons,  too.  They  fairly  darkened  the  earth  in  their 
flight.  On  one  occasion  she  counted  sixty  wild  turkeys  on  the 
woodpile  in  front  of  her  door. 

I  am  taking  liberties  with  time,  so  let  me  leave  the  third 
decade  of  the  nineteenth  century  and  return  to  the  closing 
years  of  its  fifth  decade.  It  found  me  on  my  way  to  Norwalk. 
I  walked  the  four  miles  to  my  uncle's  home  and  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  came  to  the  great  old-fashioned  brick  house  which 
for  years  had  occupied  the  site  of  the  original  little  frame 
house.  By  the  barn  on  the  other  side  of  the  road  I  saw  a 
plain  farmer-looking  man  who  proved  to  be  my  uncle,  to  whom 
I  introduced  myself,  and  together  we  went  into  the  house 
where  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  my  aunt  and  my  cousins. 
The  ten  days  that  I  spent  with  them  were  a  pleasant  exper- 
ience.   Their  ways  were  naturally  quite  different  from  the  ways 


9o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

to  which  I  had  been  accustomed.  There  was  always  pie  upon 
the  table  for  breakfast  and  in  other  ways  the  meal  was  un- 
usual from  my  point  of  view. 

Near  the  end  of  my  stay  the  girls  gave  a  party  for  my  bene- 
fit. The  girls  and  young  fellows  from  the  farms  around  were 
invited.  Their  crude,  awkward,  and  rather  free  ways  inter- 
ested and  amused  me,  and  I  entered  into  the  fun  with  so  much 
zest  that  I  quite  surprised  my  relatives.  I  think  they  were 
pleased,  for  up  to  that  time  they  had  thought  me  rather  quiet, 
and  were  in  doubt  as  to  whether  I  was  having  a  good  time. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  first  year  of  study  I  returned  to 
New  Canaan  for  the  summer  vacation.  As  we  had  an  acci- 
dent going  out,  so  we  barely  escaped  a  fearful  one  on  my  re- 
turn. Our  train  had  only  time  to  run  onto  a  side  track,  liter- 
ally on  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  when  another  train  thundered 
by  at  express  speed.  What  the  circumstances  were  I  knew 
not,  but  I  well  remember  the  ejaculations  of  astonishment 
from  the  passengers  and  the  unchecked  and  almost  excusable 
profanity  of  the  conductor  at  someone's  blunder  which  had 
nearly  caused  us  all  to  be  sent  to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine. 
My  brother  met  me  in  New  York,  and  we  took  the  afternoon 
train  for  Darien,  where  we  found  my  father  awaiting  us.  It 
was,  I  remember,  the  day  before  the  Fourth  of  July.  The 
crowd  was  so  great  that  we  were  unable  to  find  seats,  and  were 
compelled  to  stand  in  the  baggage  car.  I  have  always  remem- 
bered that  drive  from  Darien  to  New  Canaan.  It  was  fast 
getting  dark,  black  clouds  were  forming,  the  rain  began  to 
fall,  and  soon  the  darkness  became  Cimmerian.  It  was  im- 
possible to  see  ahead,  and  we  had  to  leave  the  horse  to  his 
own  guidance.  Only  through  the  vivid  lightning  flashes  could 
we  form  any  idea  of  where  we  were,  although  it  was  all 
familiar  ground.  Soon  the  horse  failed  us  and  we  found  our- 
selves off  the  road.  Getting  out,  we  groped  around,  feeling 
with  our  hands  until  we  found  it.  It  was  soon  lost  again, 
and  seeing  a  dim  light  in  a  window  nearby,  we  went  to  the 
house  and  were  fortunate  enough  to  borrow  a  lantern  which 
helped  us  on  our  way.  I  was  glad  to  see  my  mother  and  the 
rest  of  the  family,  and  to  be  once  more  at  home. 

The  Rev.  Cook  was  the  rector  of  the  church  at  that  time,  and 
he  had  two  daughters,  Mary  and  Julia,  bright  amiable  girls, 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  91 

with  whom  I  formed  an  agreeable  acquaintance,  and  to  this 
day  whenever  I  hear  the  song  "A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing 
sea,  a  wind  that  follows  fast,"  I  think  of  Julia  Cook  whom 
I  heard  sing  it  many  times.  Long  years  after  I  again  met 
Mary  and  her  father  at  Ballston  Spa — he  an  old  man  and 
she  a  gentle,  middle-aged  spinster. 


CHAPTER  XV 

VACATION  ended,  I  started  on  my  return  to  Gambier. 
The  only  incident  remembered  on  the  way  was  that  in 
the  car  bound  for  New  York  I  again  met  Stewart  L. 
Woodford,  who  afterwards  became  more  or  less  famous. 
He  remembered  me,  and  in  the  brief  conversation  I  recall 
he  remarked  that  "We  will  both  be  men  together."  I  was 
eighteen  and  he  was  twenty-four,  and  I  imagine  that  I  had 
said  something  about  the  difference  in  our  ages.  When  young, 
the  space  of  six  years  seems  very  wide,  but  as  we  grow  older  it 
narrows  until  the  distance  seems  but  trifling.  While  I  never 
knew  him  intimately  in  after  years,  yet  as  he  fitly  said,  we 
would  be  men  together.  Yes,  men  together  in  the  Civil  War, 
men  together  in  the  activities  of  our  respective  professions, 
and  in  the  business  and  social  gatherings  of  the  Loyal  Le- 
gion. My  two  years  at  Milnor  Hall  in  preparation  for  col- 
lege were  years  of  fairly  faithful  study  and  quiet  enjoyment. 
The  summer  vacation  of  1 859-1 860  I  again  spent  in  New 
Canaan,  and  on  my  return  had  the  company  of  my  friend, 
Doty,  with  whom  I  stopped  over  at  Hobart  College  at 
Geneva,  New  York,  for  a  day.  The  Alpha  Deltas  enter- 
tained us  here,  and  I  remember  that  I  was  quite  pleased  when 
my  companion  informed  me  that  the  boys  at  Hobart  thought 
I  was  a  good  fellow  and  would  be  good  material  to  consider 
for  the  society.  At  all  events,  when  I  got  back  to  Kenyon  and 
found  myself  duly  installed  as  a  Freshman,  I  was  honored  by 
an  election  to  this  good  old  society,  and  therein  formed 
friendships  that  literally  have  been  undying.  What  simplicity 
there  was  in  those  days,  and  in  these,  too,  so  far  as  relates 
to  the  housing  of  the  society.  Among  the  pictures  of  fine 
chapter  houses  that  adorn  the  walls  of  Alpha  Delta  Club- 
house in  New  York,  ours  will  be  found,  substantially  the 
same  as  in  my  time.  It  was  small  and,  for  greater  secrecy, 
without  windows.  Indeed,  so  careful  were  we  that  the  outer 
world  should  learn  nothing  of  our  proceedings,  that,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  it  was  brick-filled.  However  much  we  may 
decry  the  selection  of  a  certain  number  of  men,  who  are  to 

92 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  93 

be  nearer  and  more  friendly  to  each  other  than  to  an  equal 
number  of  those  belonging  to  other  societies,  or  to  no  society, 
I  have  to  confess  that  my  best  friends  were  thus  obtained. 
What  sadness  comes  over  me  as  I  peer  into  the  faces  of  the 
members  of  the  fraternity  as  seen  in  the  ancient  photographs 
hanging  on  my  wall.  It  were  better,  perhaps,  that  I  should 
not  look  at  it,  but  the  attraction  is  irresistible  and  the  flood 
of  emotion  excited  is  a  part  of  the  penalty  of  memory.  There 
is  a  sweet  mournfulness  about  it  all,  however,  and  as  I  look 
at  the  thinned  ranks  I  am  reminded  that  in  the  order  of 
nature,  I,  too,  shall  drop  out  and  soon.  Sitting  and  stand- 
ing there  are  all  told,  seventeen  of  us  there,  three  living,  four- 
teen dead.  Let  me  recall  the  characteristics  of  some  of  them. 
First,  "Bill"  Payne,  one  of  two  brothers.  He  was  a  bright, 
good-natured  boy  of  sickly  appearance  and  an  inveterate 
chewer  of  tobacco.  He  lived  but  a  few  years  after  he  left 
college,  dying  of  consumption,  but  not  before  he  had  faith- 
fully served  his  country  for  two  years  in  war  time.  Menden- 
hall  was  a  big,  rather  rough,  strong  fellow,  and  he,  too,  died 
many  years  ago.  I  was  always  prejudiced  against  him  be- 
cause of  the  part  he  took  in  hazing  an  inoffensive  fellow 
while  in  the  grammar  school.  Searight  I  remember  as  an 
amiable  man  and  good  student.  He  suffered  an  inexplicable 
attack  of  conscience  which  compelled  him  to  resign  his  mem- 
bership. We  never  understood  it  and  always  thought  him  a 
little  queer.  He  is  now  dead,  but  a  few  years  ago  a  Kenyon 
man  told  me  that  he  had  met  him  in  Uniontown,  Pennsyl- 
vania, where  he  had  lived  all  his  life.  He  introduced  himself 
as  from  Kenyon  and  was  received  with  courtesy,  but  the  im- 
pression he  made  was  that  of  a  man  of  sad  and  sombre  turn 
of  mind,  not  in  harmonious  relations  with  life. 

Murray  Davis  was  a  man  well  worth  remembering.  Physi- 
cally he  was  not  very  striking,  small  of  stature  and  rather 
humble  in  mien.  He  would  not  in  any  way  strike  an  observer 
as  remarkable,  but  associated  with  that  far  from  robust  body 
there  was  a  vigorous  mentality  and  a  daring  spirit  possessed 
by  few  of  his  associates.  I  remember  him  best  as  president 
of  our  Nu  Phi  Kappa  literary  society.  In  its  debates  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  presiding  officer  to  sum  up  the  arguments, 
comment  on  their  force  and  appropriateness,  and  decide  as  to 


94  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

the  winning  side.  My  admiration  for  him  was  unbounded, 
and  in  my  boyish  enthusiasm  I  thought  of  him  as  destined  for 
a  great  career.  His  judicial  decisions  would  undoubtedly  now 
seem  to  be  far  less  profound  than  they  did  then,  but  I  think  it 
was  the  universal  feeling  among  the  students  that  he  was 
their  most  intellectual  representative.  Like  Payne,  Murray 
Davis  was  a  habitual  tobacco-chewer,  a  habit  more  in  vogue 
in  those  days  than  now.  On  one  of  the  days  devoted  to  ora- 
tions in  the  chapel  the  venerable  bishop  of  the  diocese, 
Bishop  Macllvaine,  was  present  and  he  occasionally  com- 
mented on  the  efforts  of  some  of  the  student  orators.  When 
Davis  had  finished  his  speech  and  the  bishop  had  favorably 
commended  it  for  its  literary  excellence,  he  added,  "Now,  I 
do  not  know  this  young  man,  but  I  am  quite  certain  that  he 
chews  tobacco.  Am  I  not  right?"  The  answer  being  in  the 
affirmative,  he  went  on  to  say  that  there  was  a  certain  tone  and 
a  muffling  of  the  voice  in  a  tobacco-chewer  that  was  to  him 
characteristic,  and  he  advised  our  friend  that,  if  he  wished  to 
preserve  his  health  as  well  as  to  become  a  good  public  speaker, 
he  must  quit  tobacco.  I  do  not  think  that  the  advice  bore  fruit, 
for  to  the  end  of  my  acquaintance  with  him,  Davis  continued 
the  habit.  After  his  graduation,  during  the  Rebellion,  he  en- 
tered the  service  and  attained  the  rank  of  colonel.  He  died 
a  victim  of  consumption  shortly  after  the  war's  close  and  be- 
fore he  had  achieved  the  reputation  which  his  talents  and  in- 
dustrious nature  would  undoubtedly  have  brought  him.  In  the 
Alpha  Delta  Phi  Song  Book  there  is  a  popular  song  by  Davis, 
entitled  "Kenyon,"  known  in  all  the  chapters,  which  gives  him 
to  this  day  a  sort  of  fraternity  fame. 

"Matt"  Trimble  still  lives  and  his  home  is  in  Washington. 
He  was  the  son  of  our  good  old  Greek  professor.  He  is  de- 
voted to  Kenyon  College.  I  met  him  while  there  in  1908,  and 
I  understood  that  it  was  his  habit  always  to  be  present  on  each 
Commencement  season.  Kiung  is  an  interesting  character,  for, 
though  now  dead,  character  is  eternal,  and  the  little  Chinaman 
still  lives  through  it.  He  was  studying  for  the  ministry,  and 
was  one  of  the  best  scholars  in  his  class.  He  was  affectionate, 
broad-minded,  full  of  humor,  and  with  a  keen  and  ready  wit. 
He  was  continually  giving  illustrations  of  this,  one  of  which 
just  now  occurs  to  me.    We  found  ourselves  one  evening  in  the 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  95 

room  of  a  theological  student.  Kiung  was  brimful  of  fun  and 
of  puns.  Pretending  to  be  tired  of  it,  two  of  the  theologs,  as 
we  termed  the  students  for  the  ministry,  grabbed  the  little 
fellow  and  thrust  him  into  a  dark  closet,  saying  that  he  couldn't 
come  out  until  he  had  perpetrated  a  pun.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  shouted  "O-pun  (open)  the  door!"  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  he  had  earned  his  release.  I  well  remember  his 
graduation  oration  on  Martin  Luther,  which  was  accorded  high 
encomium.  After  his  ordination  he  went  to  China  and  became 
the  successful  and  well-beloved  pastor  of  the  Church  of  Our 
Saviour  in  the  city  of  Shanghai.  Some  twenty  years  ago  he 
revisited  the  United  States  in  the  interests  of  the  church  in 
China.  At  that  time  my  son  was  a  student  in  the  University 
at  Middletown,  Conn.,  where  also  the  Berkeley  Divinity  School 
is  located.  In  the  cars  on  the  way  to  New  York  on  one  occa- 
sion my  son  and  a  friend  were  talking  about  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association.  It  happened  that  Kiung,  who  had  been 
visiting  the  Berkeley  Divinity  School,  sat  immediately  behind 
them.  He  leaned  forward  and  asked  them  some  pertinent 
question,  when  my  son,  hearing  his  name,  said,  "I  believe  you 
know  my  father,  Dr.  Rockwell."  Kiung  seemed  delighted  to 
hear  of  an  old  college-mate  and  lost  no  time  in  coming  to  see 
me  at  my  office.  He  died  not  many  years  after  his  return  to 
China.  Jack  Harper  was  a  senior  when  I  was  a  Freshman. 
It  was  he  who  reminded  me  of  the  pie  story  fifty  years  after 
the  momentous  event.  A  few  years  ago  I  met  him  when  re- 
visiting Kenyon,  and  about  two  years  ago  when  in  Pittsburgh 
I  met  him  again  and  passed  a  few  pleasant  hours.  He  knew 
Andrew  Carnegie  well  in  his  earlier  days  and  used  to  call  him 
"Andy."  He  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  Thaw  family 
and  seemed  to  have  a  certain  amount  of  sympathy  for  Harry 
Thaw,  who  murdered  Stanford  White.  I  can  still  see  little 
Jack  Harper  walking  down  the  college  path.  His  stride  is 
rather  long  and  his  big  gold  chain  sways  to  and  fro  as  he 
walks. 

The  most  striking  thing  about  Doty,  to  whom  I  have  already 
referred,  was  his  lovability.  Intellectually  he  was  far  from  bril- 
liant. He  kept  abreast  of  the  average  of  his  class  only  by 
arduous  and  conscientious  work.  His  mind  did  not  act  very 
quickly  and  I  think  his  perception  was  a  little  dull,  and  yet  in 


96  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

his  class  and  among  his  companions  his  personality  was  one 
to  be  reckoned  with.  Always  serene  and  kind,  he  was  just  the 
man  to  go  to  when  in  trouble ;  and  a  sick  friend  had  no  more 
skillful  and  patient  helper  than  Doty.  When  my  little  room- 
mate, Caspar  Dean,  was  sick  with  fever,  it  was  Doty  who  was 
always  on  hand  to  bathe  his  face  and  hands  with  the  tender 
touch  of  a  woman;  and  so  in  time,  after  he  became  a  parish 
priest,  he  was  as  well  beloved  as  any  minister  of  his  time.  He 
long  served  a  church  in  Waterloo,  New  York,  and  for  many 
years  was  rector  of  an  important  parish  in  Rochester,  New 
York.  The  good,  strong,  resonant  voice,  the  beaming  face, 
and  ever  kindly  greeting,  as  shown  in  the  strong  handclasp, 
were  effective  assets  that  made  up  for  the  lack  of  exceptional 
intellectual  strength.  It  was  these  characteristics,  rather  than 
scholarship,  that  brought  him  his  title  of  Doctor  of  Divinity, 
and  that  made  him  so  beloved,  and  his  ministry  so  comfort- 
ing and  useful.  Although  I  considered  him  rather  mediae- 
val in  his  theology,  Doty  always  kept  a  warm  place  in  my 
heart.  To  him  The  Church  was  everything.  I  remember 
meeting  him  after  a  very  long  interval,  and  one  of  the  first 
questions  he  asked  me  was  where  I  went  to  church.  When  I 
told  him  that  my  family  was  attending  a  place  of  worship  other 
than  the  Episcopal,  he  asked  if  my  children  were  baptised  in 
the  church,  and  when  I  told  him  no,  but  that  I  imagined  that 
they  would  get  to  heaven  quite  as  readily  as  if  they  had  been, 
he  seriously  replied,  "Perhaps  so."  He  was,  of  course,  a  high 
churchman,  and  so  I  repeated  to  him  the  little  rhyme : 

"Broad  and  hazy,  Low  and  lazy." 

At  this  Doty  was  amused,  but  when  I  added  the  last  line, 

"High  and  crazy " 

the  smile  faded  from  his  face.  Good  old  Doty  (for  he  was  the 
senior  of  the  most  of  us  by  several  years),  you,  too,  left  us  a 
decade  ago,  but  the  memory  of  you  is  sweet  and  I  well  know 
the  host  of  mourners  you  left  among  those  you  served  so  well. 
George  Mann  was  from  Virginia  and  became  a  judge  at  Gal- 
veston, Texas.  I  never  saw  him  after  Kenyon  days,  but  re- 
member him  as  a  fine,  virile  fellow  and  well  liked  by  everyone. 
Naturally  he  entered  the  Confederate  service,  and  became  a 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  97 

captain  in  the  Third  Virginia  Cavalry.  He  was  very  bright, 
and  also  very  lively  and  gay.  One  thing  I  remember  well,  that 
no  matter  how  many  and  how  frequent  his  escapades,  he  never 
forgot  to  say  his  prayers  before  getting  into  bed. 

Alexander  Viets  Griswold  Allen,  or  "Viets,"  as  we  all  lov- 
ingly called  him,  was  unquestionably  the  most  scholarly  and 
in  after  life  became  the  most  distinguished  man  of  the  group. 
He  studied  theology  at  Bexley  Hall  and  finished  his  course  at 
Andover,  Mass.  He  became  professor  of  Church  History  in 
the  Episcopal  Seminary  at  Cambridge,  and  to  the  time  of  his 
death  a  few  years  ago  was  the  leading  exponent  of  the  Broad 
Church  idea  and  a  theological  writer  and  lecturer  of  wide 
renown.  In  a  letter  to  me  he  said,  "How  well  I  remember  the 
first  time  I  met  you  at  Gambier."  I  do  not  remember  this  first 
meeting,  but  I  do  remember  many  others  and  how  intimate  our 
association  was.  When  he  first  came  from  Vermont  to  Kenyon, 
he  was  a  shy,  gentle  lad,  and  I  recall  the  soft,  silky,  reddish 
whiskers  encircling  his  face,  and  the  reason  they  were  so  ex- 
ceptionally soft  was  because  he  had  never  put  a  razor  to  his 
face.  It  was  in  my  room  that  he  indulged  in  his  first  smoke, 
and  therefore  I  am,  I  suppose,  partially  responsible  for  the 
firm  and  excessive  habit  that  controlled  him  for  so  many  years. 
I  became  aware  of  this  when  in  1872  he  first  visited  me  in  my 
home  in  Harlem.  He  was  then  unmarried  and  I  can  see  him 
now  laughing  in  amusement  as  he  sat  opposite  watching  me 
dandle  my  first-born  on  my  knee.  He  was  then  smoking  ex- 
cessively, and  I  warned  him,  but  it  did  no  good.  He  died  of 
heart  disease,  and  although  he  was  well  along  in  years,  I  can- 
not but  believe  that  tobacco  had  something  to  do  with  his  sub- 
sequent heart  failure.  As  he  wrote  his  various  books,  he  us- 
ually sent  me  copies.  His  most  profound  work,  of  course,  was 
"The  Continuity  of  Christian  Thought,"  which  gave  him  high 
repute  both  here  and  abroad.  When  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury visited  this  country  some  years  ago,  many  clergymen 
were  presented  to  him  at  a  reception,  Allen  among  the  num- 
ber. When  he  had  passed  on  someone  remarked  to  the  Arch- 
bishop, "That  is  the  author  of  'The  Continuity  of  Christian 
Thought.'  "  "Is  that  'Continuity  Allen'?"  replied  the  Arch- 
bishop, and,  crossing  the  room,  he  spoke  to  Allen  and  told  him 
that  his  book  was  the  most  frequently  consulted  book  in  his 


98  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

library.  I  can  imagine  the  characteristic  blush  that  immedi- 
ately suffused  the  features  of  the  modest  and  retiring  Allen  at 
this  high  compliment.  His  "Life  of  Jonathan  Edwards,"  in 
the  theological  series,  is  a  notable  biography,  superior  in  the 
method  of  treatment  and  literary  style  to  most  of  the  others. 
His  "Life  of  Phillips  Brooks"  is  also  fine  in  every  way,  and  it 
is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  know  that  one  of  my  dearest  friends 
should  be  the  author  of  the  life-record  of  this  great  spiritual 
force  in  this  world  of  greed  and  gain. 

When  on  one  occasion  he  came  to  New  York  to  see  Mrs. 
Arthur  Brooks,  to  get  manuscript  and  other  data,  we  had  one 
of  those  little  dinners  together  that  were  so  delightful.  "It  is 
going  to  be  a  great  book,"  he  said,  referring  mainly  to  the 
greatness  of  the  subject  and  his  wealth  of  material.  As  illus- 
trating the  character  of  our  friendship  and  also  his  affectionate 
nature,  I  give  the  two  letters  that  passed  between  us  relative 
to  the  book : 

25  East  44th  Street, 
Sept.  30th,  1903. 
My  dear  Viets  : 

How  many  there  are,  I  wonder,  who  call  the  distinguished 
A.  V.  G.  Allen,  D.D.,  plain  "Viets"?  Not  many,  I  fancy,  and 
few  can  now  go  back  with  you  to  the  time  when  this  was  the 
accepted  designation  of  your  personality  among  your  friends; 
so  I  still  love  to  call  you  Viets  and  am  moved  to  say  a  word 
to  you. 

Some  years  ago  while  in  New  York  getting  data  for  the 
Life  of  Phillips  Brooks,  you  remarked  that  the  book  would 
be  great.  I  knew  well  what  you  meant,  that  it  would  be  a  great 
biography  because  of  the  wealth  of  material  at  your  hand  and 
the  greatness  of  the  subject.  Whenever  we  met  I  have  always 
felt  a  little  ashamed  that  I  was  unable  to  say  that  I  have  really 
read  the  book.  Many  reviews  and  extracts  I  had  indeed  read, 
besides  the  book  was  so  big  that  I  was  always  putting  off  its 
perusal  until  a  more  convenient  season.  So  much  work  to  do 
and  so  little  time  in  which  to  do  it.     You  know  all  about  this. 

Well,  I  have  at  last  read  the  book,  both  volumes,  from  cover 
to  cover.  I  have  been  a  month  about  it,  and  can  truly  say 
that  it  has  been  a  month  of  unalloyed  satisfaction.  It  has  been 
both  a  literary  treat  and  a  help  to  the  soul.     It  is  a  great  biog- 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  99 

raphy,  not  only  because  of  the  greatness  of  the  man  himself, 
but  because  of  the  way  you  have  treated  the  subject.  Even  if 
you  had  written  nothing  else,  this  alone  would  have  established 
your  reputation;  and  so  we  are  all  greatly  indebted  to  you  for 
having  used  so  well  the  rare  opportunity  of  giving  to  the  world 
such  a  book.  It  seems  to  me  if  young  men  could  be  induced 
generally  to  read  it,  it  would  do  more  to  uplift  and  establish 
character  than  most  educational  methods.  In  reading  Mrs. 
Humphry  Ward's  introduction  to  the  "Journal  of  Amiel,"  a 
passage  which  I  marked  was  to  the  effect  that  in  the  circle  of 
life,  "the  nearer  and  nearer  we  get  to  the  end,  the  closer  are 
we  to  the  beginning."  In  my  own  experience  I  see  this  exem- 
plified in  the  delight  with  which  I  revert  to  the  events  of  long 
ago,  to  my  army  life,  to  college  days  and  college  friends,  to  the 
incidents  of  childhood,  and  more  especially  in  the  love  for  little 
children,  accentuated  undoubtedly  by  that  blessed  grandchild  of 
mine;  and  finally  the  desire  and  tendency  to  realize  again 
something  of  the  religious  life  of  an  earlier  time.  I  cannot  of 
course  believe  many  things  as  I  did  then,  but  the  assurance  is 
clear  to  me  that  the  essential  religion  about  which  I  read  so 
much  does  not  require  this. 

"Why  did  you  not  come  and  take  that  dinner  with  me  on 
your  return  from  Washington?  I  trust  the  next  time  you  get 
this  way  you  will  manage  to  get  to  my  house  and  put  your  feet 
under  my  table.     You  have  eluded  me  too  long. 

Affectionately  yours, 

A.  D.  Rockwell. 

Cambridge,  October  3rd,  1903. 
My  very  dear  Friend  : 

Thank  you  for  a  beautiful  letter  which  I  value  and  appre- 
ciate highly.  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  read  my  book,  and 
that  having  read  you  were  moved  to  tell  me  you  like  it.  And 
your  remarks  on  the  old  days  appeal  to  me  strongly.  You 
and  W.  W.  Taylor  of  Cincinnati  are  the  only  ones  left  now 
who  can  speak  freely  of  the  old  days,  when  we  were  young 
and  making  our  first  friendships.  How  I  can  recall  the  visits 
you  made  to  the  "Bull's  Eye"  in  Kenyon  and  the  first  time  I 
saw  you.  What  enthusiasm  we  had,  what  courage  as  we  looked 
into  the  future  or  calculated  our  horoscopes.     How  happy  we 


ioo  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

were  and  how  lightly  responsiblities  rested  upon  us.  How  old 
and  matured  we  were  too,  and  now  that  future  then  hidden  from 
us  has  become  unrolled  and  become  our  past.  In  the  survey 
the  things  most  vivid  are  those  early  associations.  You  and  I 
must  cherish  them.  They  exist  for  us,  but  not  for  the  world. 
When  I  come  to  New  York  again  I  will  try  hard  to  arrange 
things  so  that  I  can  go  to  your  home  and  see  you  under  your 
own  roof.  Once  before  I  did  so  when  you  were  living  in  a 
town  with  a  famous  name,  Milan,  in  Ohio.  I  did  not  know, 
then,  I  suppose,  of  any  other  or  greater  Milan,  so  I  will  hope 
to  come  soon. 

I  am  to  deliver  a  lecture  in  New  York  this  winter,  before 
the  Union  Seminary,  but  the  date  is  not  fixed  and  the  work  in 
the  school  in  Cambridge  may  make  my  visit  a  very  short  one. 
At  least  I  will  try  to  see  you.  But  next  June  I  look  forward 
to  a  longer  time  in  New  York.  Thank  you  and  your  dear  wife 
for  so  kind  and  cordial  an  invitation. 

And  I  see  they  have  elected  Greer  Bishop  Coadjutor  of 
the  great  Diocese  of  New  York.  He  was  in  the  Seminary  at 
Gambier  for  two  years  while  I  was  there.  I  remember  him 
as  wearing  long  hair,  curled  up  underneath  and  well  oiled.  You 
may  recall  the  fashion,  but  even  then  it  had  gone  by.  We 
elected  him  to  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  but  he  declined  because  he 
had  scruples  against  secret  societies.  How  he  has  changed 
since  then,  when  he  was  also  as  narrow  a  pietistic  evangelical 
as  you  and  I  were.  It  is  something  to  have  lived  and  have 
seen  all  these  and  other  changes. 

Good-bye.     Thank  you  again  for  your  kindest  of  letters. 

Ever  most  affectionately, 

Alex.  V.  G.  Allen. 

The  life  of  Allen  has  recently  been  written  by  his  friend  and 
pupil,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Slattery,  rector  of  Grace  Church  in  this 
city,  and  is  a  worthy  tribute  to  one  of  the  best  of  men  and 
friends. 

Professor  Benjamin  Lang  was  our  professor  of  mathematics 
and  a  character.  Kindly,  yet  oftentimes  brusque,  he  was  easily 
approached  and  would  do  almost  anything  in  reason  for  one 
he  liked,  but  if  he  disliked  another  he  could  be  harsh  to  the 
point  of  discourtesy.     He  chewed  tobacco  and  had  asthma,  a 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  101 

most  unfortunate  combination,  and  yet  I  have  always  had  a 
warm  place  in  my  heart  for  Professor  Lang.  I  myself  was  a 
poor  hand  at  mathematics,  and  the  professor,  seeing  this,  was 
always  most  patient,  kind  and  considerate.  In  other  studies 
I  stood  fairly  well,  but  in  mathematics  I  was  below  the  aver- 
age. And  here  I  am  led  to  the  confession  of  a  deed  not  to  be 
justified.  He  wrote  my  father  a  letter  and  gave  it  to  me  to 
mail — blind  confidence.  I  surmised  that  it  had  something  to 
do  with  my  poor  showing  in  algebra,  and  on  opening  the  letter, 
found  this  to  be  true.  I  destroyed  the  letter,  and  so  my  father 
had  no  news  of  this  kind  to  worry  over,  if  indeed  it  was  worth 
worrying  over.  I  did  the  worrying,  for  my  conscience  was  not 
at  ease  for  some  time  thereafter.  The  professor  was  a  fine 
mathematician  and  an  excellent  teacher,  and  his  irritability  was 
due  to  poor  health.  Finally  he  gave  up  his  professorship  and 
sought  employment  in  Washington.  He  obtained  some  gov- 
ernment position  through  young  Stanton,  my  classmate,  son  of 
the  secretary  of  war.  About  1870  he  came  to  see  me  at  my 
office  in  New  York,  on  his  way  to  spend  his  declining  years 
with  relatives  in  the  far  West. 

John  Kendrick  was  a  seminary  student  and  considerably 
older  than  the  rest  of  us.  I  did  not  know  him,  of  course,  as 
well  as  I  knew  the  others,  for  I  was  but  a  freshman  and  he  a 
theolog.  I  remember  him,  however,  as  a  courteous,  charming 
man  whom  we  were  glad  to  have  with  us.  In  later  life  he 
became  a  bishop,  and  as  such  he  came  to  Flushing  a  few  years 
ago  and  preached  in  St.  George's  Church.  It  was  well  nigh 
half  a  century  since  last  I  had  seen  him.  Ah,  what  changes 
fifty  years  bring  about.  Instead  of  the  sandy-haired  and 
sandy-whiskered  young  man  of  other  days,  I  saw  before  me  a 
man  truly  venerable  in  every  respect.  His  hair  and  whiskers 
were  snowy  white,  but  he  appeared  vigorous.  After  the  serv- 
ices I  made  my  way  into  the  vestry  and,  offering  my  hand, 
said:  "Bishop,  I  do  not  know  whether  you  will  remember  me 
but  I  was  at  Kenyon  and  my  name  is  Rockwell."  I  did  feel  a 
doubt  as  to  whether  he  could  recall  me,  but  without  hesitation 
he  grasped  my  hand  in  both  of  his  and  exclaimed,  "Know  you, 
I  guess  I  do."  He  seemed  delighted  to  meet  me  again  and  I 
was  equally  well  pleased  to  meet  him.  Soon  afterwards  I 
read  that  he  had  fallen  in  the  street  of  one  of  the  towns  in  the 


102  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

far  West  and  had  immediately  expired.  He  too  served  his 
country  during  the  Civil  War  as  adjutant  of  the  Thirty-third 
Ohio  Infantry. 

He  who  looks  at  John  North  in  the  group  alluded  to  will 
see  a  man  of  sturdy  frame  and  equally  sturdy  intellect.  Per- 
haps no  man  in  the  college  surpassed  him  in  vigorous  mental 
grasp,  and  I  looked  for  a  career  for  him  far  above  the  aver- 
age. He  was  a  strong  and  independent  thinker,  and  made 
light  of  many  of  the  cherished  doctrines  and  beliefs  of  the 
day;  but  time  was  not  given  him  to  come  to  full  fruition.  He 
entered  the  army  and  lost  a  leg.  I  do  not  know  how  many 
years  he  lived  afterwards,  but  he  died  long,  long  ago,  before 
he  had  opportunity  to  show  to  the  world  what  he  was  capable 
of  doing. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THESE  men  that  I  have  thus  written  about  are  only  a 
few  whom  I  well  remember  and  with  whom  I  had  more 
or  less  pleasant  relations  in  the  four  years  that  I  spent 
at  Gambier.  There  was  Frank  Hurd.  He  was  rather  wild 
and  convivial,  and  several  times  came  near  being  expelled. 
He  had  a  club  foot,  but  this  did  not  prevent  him  from  indulg- 
ing in  all  sorts  of  gayeties.  He  was  quite  an  orator  and  we  in 
our  youthful  enthusiasm  thought  him  destined  for  great  foren- 
sic triumphs.  In  the  presidential  campaign,  preceding  the 
Civil  War  and  the  election  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  I  heard  Frank 
Hurd,  still  an  undergraduate,  make  a  political  speech.  He 
made  poetical  allusions,  spoke  of  the  breaking  of  the  golden 
bowl,  and  we  thought  it  very  fine.  I  imagine,  however,  that 
it  was  rather  sophomoric  and  flamboyant,  unconnected  with 
much  soberness  of  thought.  In  after  life  Hurd  was  elected 
to  the  National  Congress,  but  later  I  heard  little  about  him. 

Percy  Browne,  another  friend,  graduated  in  the  class  of 
'62.  He  was  of  a  fine  poetic  type  with  lofty  ideals.  Later  he 
became  and  was  for  many  years  rector  of  a  church  in  Boston, 
and  in  summer  had  a  residence  on  Buzzard's  Bay,  where  he 
had  pleasant  social  relations  with  President  Cleveland  and  the 
poet  Gilder.  He  was  a  friend  of  Phillips  Brooks,  and,  of 
course,  of  our  old  mutual  friend  Viets  Allen.  He  belonged 
to  the  romantic  school.  I  do  not  think  he  could  quite  fit  in 
with  the  actualities  of  life,  and  was  in  a  measure  out  of  har- 
mony with  the  conditions  that  environed  him.  I  take  it  that 
he  was  not  strong  of  will.  As  an  illustration  of  how  a  little 
thing  is  long  remembered,  and  of  the  impression  it  makes,  I 
recall  the  time  I  was  serving  in  the  ranks,  guarding  prisoners 
at  Camp  Chase  in  1862.  Percy  was  visiting  some  fine  friends 
in  Columbus  and  drove  out  to  Camp  Chase.  I  see  myself 
standing  before  the  carriage  in  my  common,  ill-fitting  army 
suit  with  shoes  much  too  big  for  me.  I  must  have  been  a 
sight  to  the  gloved  and  fastidiously  clothed  young  collegian, 
and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  conceal  an  expression  and  a 

103 


io4  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

little  laugh  of  comical  derision.  There  was  just  a  slight  super- 
ficial sting  in  it,  nothing  more,  and  he  probably  never  had  an 
idea  that  there  was  any  hurt  in  it.  He  has  my  forgiveness  for 
the  sake  of  the  rollicking  fun  I  had  with  him  once.  It  was  one 
evening  about  nine  o'clock  when  I  was  a  sophomore  and  he  a 
freshman.  I  was  busily  engaged  with  my  studies  for  the  fol- 
lowing day  when  in  came  Percy  in  a  gay  and  frolicksome 
mood.  He  had  finished  his  lessons  and  was  care-free,  while 
mine  were  all  before  me.  After  talking  and  joking  a  while 
I  told  him  of  my  necessities,  but  the  more  I  pleaded  to  be  let 
alone  the  more  he  persecuted,  joggling  the  table  and  turning 
down  the  light,  until  finally,  tired  of  this,  he  threw  himself  on 
our  lounge  and  straightway  went  fast  asleep.  Long  into  the 
night  I  was. awakened  by  his  stealthy  movements  about  the 
room.  The  fire  had  gone  out  and  it  was  cold.  I  omitted  to 
say  that  before  putting  out  the  light  I  had  not  only  locked  the 
door,  and  hidden  the  key,  but  had  also  put  the  matches  away. 
Pretending  to  be  asleep,  I  heard  him  go  to  the  door,  which  he 
found  locked.  He  searched  but  not  finding  the  key  he  be- 
thought himself  of  the  matches  to  light  the  lamp,  evidently 
disdaining  to  call  for  my  assistance.  Of  course,  no  matches 
were  forthcoming.  Furtively  I  watched  him  as  he  stood  for  a 
moment  meditating  on  the  complexities  of  the  situation.  Sud- 
denly a  happy  thought  seemed  to  strike  him.  Drawing  a 
chair  to  the  door,  he  mounted  it,  placed  both  hands  in  the 
opening  of  the  transom,  drew  himself  carefully  up  and  placed 
one  foot  on  the  knob  of  the  door.  He  thought  to  creep 
through  the  transom  without  awakening  me,  and  thus  in  a  way 
to  triumph  over  me.  Alas  for  the  realization  of  human  ex- 
pectations !  The  knob  turned,  he  lost  his  footing  and  his  hold, 
and  down  he  came  to  the  floor  with  a  great  crash.  All  re- 
straint knocked  out  of  him,  he  stalked  to  my  bedside,  shook 
me,  shouting,  "Rockwell,  where  is  the  key?"  I  only  snored, 
and  the  more  violently  he  shook  the  more  loudly  I  snored, 
until  finally,  restraint  being  no  longer  possible,  I  broke  into 
peals  of  laughter.  I  will  say  this  good  word  for  my  then 
thoroughly  disgusted  friend — he  sat  patiently  until  I  had 
laughed  myself  out,  and  then  silently  took  the  proffered  key 
and  as  silently  stole  away. 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  105 

Browne  was  English,  and  I  know  nothing  of  his  forbears, 
but  in  his  nature  he  was  essentially  an  aristocrat.  He  was  a 
poet,  too,  in  a  way.  He  shrank  from  anything  coarse  or  com- 
mon. Tennyson's  "In  Memoriam"  had  just  appeared,  and  I 
remember  how  he  adored  and  quoted  it.  When  my  eldest  son 
went  to  Boston  to  live  for  a  year  or  two,  I  gave  him  letters  both 
to  Allen  and  to  Browne.  He  was  kindly  received  and  hos- 
pitably entertained  by  both;  however,  Allen's  nature  was  too 
grave  and  thoughtful  to  make  him  companionable  to  a  young 
fellow.  But  Browne  was  able  to  put  himself  on  the  same  level 
and  so  it  was  not  difficult  for  them  to  feel  a  sort  of  comrade- 
ship for  each  other. 

I  might  go  on  indefinitely  talking  about  the  acquaintances 
of  old  college  days,  but  if  I  mention  no  other,  I  must  say  a 
word  about  Ralph  Keeler.  Ralph  Keeler  was  a  semi-genius 
at  least.  Of  his  antecedents  I  know  nothing,  but  he  was  poor 
and  worked  his  way  through  college.  His  cognomen  is  very 
familiar.  Although  at  that  time  I  did  not  know  of  it,  the  Rock- 
well and  the  Keeler  families  were  connected  'way  back  in  the 
dim  past.  There  have  been  many  Ralph  Keelers,  the  daughter 
of  my  ancestors  nine  generations  back  having  married  one. 
This  Ralph  Keeler  was  a  character.  He  helped  to  work  his 
way  by  milking  cows,  doing  chores,  indeed  in  any  useful  way 
at  hand.  His  high  spirits  were  perennial.  He  was  a  joker  and 
continually  up  to  all  sorts  of  antics.  I  can  see  him  now  danc- 
ing on  moonlight  nights  upon  the  college  green,  with  a  white 
handkerchief  around  his  arm  to  represent  the  lady,  and  then 
to  the  amusement  of  the  crowd  he  would  dance  a  jig,  with  all 
sorts  of  fantastic  accompaniments.  He  wrote  well,  both 
poetry  and  prose.  He  went  abroad  and  wrote  interesting  ac- 
counts of  his  travels  embraced  in  a  book  entitled  "Vagabond 
Adventures  in  Europe,"  or  something  of  that  kind.  He  be- 
came a  warm  friend  of  William  Dean  Howells.  In  the  lat- 
ter's  reminiscences,  he  devotes  a  couple  of  pages  to  Keeler,  for 
whom  he  had  a  real  attachment,  in  spite  of,  or  perhaps  because 
of,  his  Bohemian  nature.  Howells  thought  very  highly  of  his 
ability,  but  warmed  to  him  more  because  of  a  certain  lovability 
in  the  man.  Looking  back  through  the  mist  of  the  years,  I, 
too,   can  recall   his   affectionate,   if   odd,   ways.     Alas,   poor 


106  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

Keeler!  Many  years  ago,  during  the  troublous  time  in  Cuba, 
he  embarked  for  that  unhappy  island  in  a  reportorial  capacity, 
but  never  reached  Cuba  and  was  never  heard  of  again.  The 
conviction  is  that  he  was  murdered,  but  of  the  details  his 
friends  remain  in  ignorance  to  this  day. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ABOUT  the  end  of  my  sophomore  year  at  Kenyon,  my 
father  then  only  fifty-one  years  of  age,  was  tired  of 
teaching.  My  mother  was  still  more  tired  of  the  labors 
associated  with  the  care  of  so  many  boys.  It  was  decided 
therefore  to  discontinue  the  school.  It  has  always  been  a 
wonder  to  me  how  my  mother  could  have  stood  the  cares  of 
such  a  life  for  so  many  years.  During  this  time  she  bore  nine 
children,  six  of  whom  grew  to  manhood.  She  suffered  much 
serious  illness,  yet  she  ever  kept  her  hand  on  the  helm,  and 
much  of  my  father's  success,  such  as  it  was,  was  due  to  her 
judicious  management  of  the  details  of  the  domestic  life. 
With  a  gross  income  at  the  highest  of  not  more  than  seven 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  with  a  family  of  forty  to  take 
care  of,  it  required  a  careful  and  calculating  mind  to  make 
both  ends  meet  and  save  up  a  little  each  year  besides.  When 
one  considers  also  that  after  all  these  years  of  toil,  there  came 
at  last  a  terrible  moment  when  all  these  savings  were  suddenly 
swept  away  and  life  had  to  be  begun  again,  we,  her  .children, 
can  appreciate  the  strain  which  she  and  my  father  endured. 
My  mother  looked  at  the  dark  side  of  things.  It  was  tem- 
peramental, this  tendency  of  hers.  It  made  her  very  careful, 
very  cautious,  and  was  an  excellent  foil  to  my  father's  over- 
optimistic  and  rather  free-handed  methods, — and  so  after  the 
great  loss,  with  house  mortgaged  and  with  nothing  in  the 
bank,  they  went  bravely  to  work  again.  Money  was  saved, 
and,  selling  the  property  to  Mr.  Gilder  who  was  to  continue 
the  school,  they  moved  to  Milan,  Ohio,  in  the  spring  of  1861, 
the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War,  bought  a  fifty-acre  farm  with 
a  good,  comfortable,  brick  building,  and  became  real  tillers 
of  the  soil.  The  place  was  about  a  mile  from  the  village  and 
about  the  same  distance  from  my  uncle's  farm,  where  my 
mother  had  gone  as  a  young  girl  some  thirty-four  years  be- 
fore. I  well  remember  the  drawing  of  the  farm  sent  me.  It 
was  the  shape  of  a  parallelogram  with  a  small  stream  running 
through  its  length.  On  it  was  indicated  the  relative  positions 
of  the  dwelling,  barns,  outhouses,  and  stream.     I  shall  never 

107 


108  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

forget  how  it  appeared  to  me  as  an  ideally  rural  spot  for  a 
home,  where  my  parents  might  get  a  little  more  of  the  easy 
enjoyment  out  of  life  than  had  been  their  lot  in  the  past. 
They  did  enjoy  their  life  there  during  the  next  four  years;  but 
it  was  not  by  any  means  all  ease.  They  worked  hard,  espe- 
cially my  father,  who  with  the  help  of  a  younger  brother  did 
most  of  the  hard  work.  The  time  came  for  me  to  leave  Ken- 
yon  and  join  the  family  at  the  farm.  I  hated  to  leave,  but  the 
money  for  my  expenses  was  no  longer  easily  forthcoming  and 
it  did  not  seem  right,  under  the  circumstances,  to  burden  the 
home  purse  further.  So  I  went  to  Milan  and  began  the  study 
of  medicine  in  the  office  of  a  Doctor  Dean.  Another  brother 
had  recently  returned  from  a  trip  to  England,  where  he  had 
gone  in  the  interests  of  what  proved  to  be  an  unsuccessful  busi- 
ness venture.  He  came  west  on  a  short  visit,  and  met  me  at 
the  station  at  Norwalk  and  drove  me  home.  He  regaled  me 
on  the  way  with  a  very  disappointing  story  in  regard  to  the 
new  place  and  especially  the  house.  Suddenly  he  drew  up 
before  a  little  tumble-down  building  standing  near  the  road 
and  said  that  this  was  the  house.  Unfortunately  for  his  joke, 
however,  I  had  seen  enough  of  the  plans  to  know  better,  and 
with  a  laugh  he  drove  on.  Milan  had  in  the  past  been  a  place 
of  considerable  importance.  It  had  a  canal  extending  six  miles 
to  Lake  Erie,  and  before  the  day  of  the  railroad  the  farmers 
from  all  the  country  round  brought  their  grain  here  to  be 
transported  to  the  lake.  Many  large  warehouses  were  built 
and  the  canal  was  lined  with  innumerable  wagons  filled  with 
produce.  With  the  coming  of  the  railroad  and  the  side-track- 
ing of  Milan-  the  bustling  little  town  subsided  into  a  pitiful 
innocuous  desuetude,  and  when  I  came  to  the  town  some  four- 
teen spacious  warehouses  were  empty  and  going  to  ruin.  Prop- 
erty was  very  cheap,  my  father  having  paid  for  his  farm  of 
fifty  acres,  with  a  fine  house,  a  good  barn,  etc.,  but  $3,500. 

But  what  was  very  much  to  me  then,  the  society  was  good 
and  I  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  circle  of  bright  girls,  so 
that,  after  all,  the  years  there  represented  the  romantic  period 
of  my  life.  There  was  Lina  Colton  and  her  petite  and  charm- 
ing cousin  Annie  Colton,  of  Toledo.  There  was  the  bright, 
joyous,  witty  Annette  Taylor,  daughter  of  Judge  Taylor,  with 
his  white  beard  and  hair,  who  always  reminded  me  of  General 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  109 

Lee,  Harriet  Ingersoll,  with  her  beautiful  blonde  hair, — red 
if  you  will — who  played  the  piano  so  divinely,  as  we  thought. 
I  must  not  forget  Annie  Gordon,  who  was  vivacity  itself. 
The  heart  was  impressionable  in  those  days.  At  times  I 
thought  I  loved  them  all,  but  laughing  Annette  Taylor  lingers 
longest  in  my  thoughts.  How  many  pleasant  rides  we  had 
together,  and  how  many  agreeable  hours  we  passed  with  each 
other  and  with  groups  of  our  friends.  And  yet  there  never 
was  a  word  of  love  or  a  caress.  My  father,  seeing  how  much 
my  attention  was  engaged,  took  occasion  to  sound  a  word  of 
warning,  since  it  would  be  years  before  I  would  be  in  any  posi- 
tion to  marry.  After  we  had  been  acquainted  about  a  year, 
Annette  went  on  a  long,  long  visit  to  Leavenworth,  Kansas, 
where  she  became  engaged  and  finally  married.  She  died 
many  years  ago  leaving  four  children.  I  wonder  whatever 
became  of  them.  I,  too,  have  four  children.  How  the  seem- 
ingly accidental  happenings  of  life  change  the  currents  of 
events.  Truly  the  world  is  under  the  domain  of  an  inexorable 
law,  and  humanity  is  as  a  child  in  its  grasp.  "Whatever  is,  is 
right."  What  a  text  for  a  sermon.  The  channel  is  good  in 
which  my  life  has  flowed  and  is  still  flowing,  and  I  am  su- 
premely happy  and  satisfied.  This  was  the  one  pure  and 
healthy  romance  of  my  life  before  the  second,  which  resulted 
in  my  years  of  confidence  and  happy  living,  and  a  quartette  of 
well-loved  and  loving  children.     I  am  content. 

Almost  immediately  (1861)  I  entered  the  office  of  Dr. 
Dean  and  began  the  study  of  medicine.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
I  could  almost  as  well  have  studied  at  home.  I  simply  used 
his  office  in  which  to  read,  and  in  return  for  the  use  of  his 
books  would  do  any  little  service  that  the  occasion  called  for. 
I  read  diligently,  however,  and  soon  got  a  smattering  of 
anatomy,  physiology,  materia  medica,  and  an  insight  into  the 
various  diseases.  I  did  not  get  much  practical  experience, 
however.  Sometimes  the  doctor  would  ask  me  to  accompany 
him  to  assist  in  some  slight  operation,  but  I  always  enjoyed 
the  ride  more  than  the  surgery,  for  which  I  had  no  liking. 
One  day  we  passed  a  flock  of  ducks  that  followed  us  with  their 
eternal  quacking,  and  the  doctor  wondered  whether  it  was 
meant  for  him  or  me.  Dr.  Dean  was  as  kind  a  man  as  I  ever 
knew,  and  I  think  of  him  always  with  affection.     Later  on, 


no  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

actuated  by  true  patriotism  and  a  desire  to  serve  his  fellows, 
he  entered  the  army  as  an  assistant  surgeon,  and  in  a  very 
short  time,  before  ever  having  seen  active  service  in  the  field, 
he  was  taken  with  typhoid  fever  and  died,  leaving  a  wife  and 
three  young  daughters,  as  well  as  a  son  who  for  a  few  months 
had  been  my  roommate  at  Kenyon. 

Within  sight  of  the  office  where  I  studied  there  was  a  little 
red  house  in  which  a  family  by  the  name  of  Edison  had  lived, 
but  some  years  before  had  left  Milan  and  gone  to  De- 
troit. Dr.  Dean  had  been  their  family  physician.  Thomas 
A.  Edison,  the  great  inventor,  was  born  there.  The  family 
were  not  very  well  off  financially,  but  were  good  people. 

When  the  fall  of  1861  arrived  and  I  had  read  with  more 
or  less  care  the  most  useful  books  in  the  doctor's  library,  I 
thought  I  would  help  out  the  family  purse  by  teaching  through 
the  coming  winter.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should  pass  an 
examination  and  get  a  certificate.  The  examining  board  met 
in  a  little  town  about  five  miles  away,  and  harnessing  the  horse 
I  drove  out  alone  and  presented  myself  in  due  form.  For- 
tunately for  me,  I  think,  the  most  influential  member  of  the 
board  was  a  Mr.  Newman,  the  principal  of  the  high  school 
at  Milan.  We  had  often  talked  together  and  I  think  he 
rather  liked  me.  At  all  events  we  talked  about  books  and 
were  congenial,  as  well  as  men  of  greatly  different  ages  could 
be.  I  had  failed  to  brush  up  my  long-neglected  studies  along 
elementary  lines,  such  as  geography,  grammar,  arithmetic, 
and  was  conscious  of  making  a  poor  fist  of  it  in  comparison 
with  some  of  the  country  lads  and  lasses  present.  So  I  have 
always  had  an  idea  that  my  good  friend  Newman  strained  a 
point  and  let  me  pass,  where  a  stricter  censor  might  perhaps 
have  been  justified  in  holding  me  up. 

The  following  winter  of  district  school  teaching  was  a  novel 
episode  in  my  life,  if  not  especially  interesting  or  enjoyable, 
and  yet  I  look  back  at  this  experience  as  a  training  of  some 
value.  The  schoolhouse  was  about  a  mile  and  a  half  or  two 
miles  directly  on  the  road  beyond  our  farm,  and  I  was  told 
that  there  were  some  pretty  bad  boys  there,  especially  three 
brothers,  who  might  give  me  trouble.  They  had  indeed  made 
the  life  of  the   former  teacher  miserable,   and  I,  therefore, 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  in 

looked  forward  to  my  first  day's  experience  in  a  rather  dis- 
turbed state  of  mind,  but  nothing  serious  happened. 

I  took  my  lunch  to  school  with  me  and  went  home  at  night. 
Occasionally,  however,  when  the  day  was  very  stormy  I  would 
accept  an  invitation  to  spend  the  night  at  some  near-by  home. 
There  was  but  one  place  that  I  really  enjoyed.  It  was  the 
home  of  an  old  bachelor  farmer  named  Squire.  He  was  a 
man  about  fifty,  I  should  say.  He  had  a  large  old-fashioned 
house  with  a  great  fireplace  in  the  living  room,  and  before  the 
roaring  wood  fire  I  spent  several  comfortable  evenings.  The 
farmer  was  an  intelligent  man  who  had  views  about  men  and 
affairs,  and  as  I,  even  then,  was  fond  of  good  reading  and 
could  talk  a  little  about  books,  he  seemed  greatly  to  enjoy  my 
company.  To  this  day  often  when  sitting  by  an  open  fire  with 
the  wind  howling  in  fierce  gusts  about  the  corners  of  the  house, 
I  recall  those  cozy  hours  with  my  honest  friend,  when  with 
apples  and  cider  at  hand,  and  the  wind  whistling  down  the 
broad  chimney,  we  talked  about  Irving  and  Scott  and  Cooper, 
or  discussed  the  progress  and  issues  of  the  terrible  war  then 
raging,  and  in  which  I  was  before  long  to  take  my  small  part. 

The  winter  passed  and  with  it  my  duties  of  teaching.  I 
felt  no  great  satisfaction  with  myself  as  a  teacher.  My  heart 
was  not  in  the  work,  and  the  best  I  hoped  for  was  that  no 
special  fault  would  be  found  with  me.  What  was  my  surprise, 
therefore,  when  meeting  Mr.  Huntington,  the  most  important 
member  of  the  school  board,  he  complimented  me  on  my 
success,  and  hoped  I  might  be  persuaded  to  take  the  job  an- 
other winter.  I  could  account  for  this  praise  only  on  the  sup- 
position that  the  previous  teacher  must  have  been  very  incom- 
petent and  that  I  was  judged  by  comparison. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AMONG  the  pictures  that  I  prize  for  their  old  and  dear 
associations  is  one  of  the  men  of  Company  B,  Eighty- 
fifth  Ohio  Volunteer  Infantry.  This  company  was 
composed  entirely  of  students  and  officered  by  the  professors 
of  the  old  college  at  Hudson,  Ohio,  but  now  located  at  Cleve- 
land as  Adelbert  College.  Several  of  my  friends  from  Milan 
were  undergraduates  of  the  college  and  members  of  the  com- 
pany. It  had  been  thoroughly  drilled  and  was  ready  for  im- 
mediate service.  About  this  time,  the  spring  of  1862,  there 
was  pressing  need  of  troops  at  the  front,  and  without  hesita- 
tion this  well-equipped  company  of  students,  through  their 
professor-officers,  tendered  their  services  to  the  government. 
The  offer  was  promptly  accepted  and  the  company  was 
attached  as  Company  B,  to  the  Eighty-fifth  Ohio,  a  newly  re- 
cruited regiment,  and  sent  to  Camp  Chase,  Columbus,  Ohio, 
thus  relieving  veteran  troops  for  service  at  the  front.  I  was 
asked  to  join  and  needed  no  urging.  In  company  with  my 
friend  Edward  Stuart,  now  Judge  Stuart,  of  Akron,  Ohio,  I 
started  without  delay  from  Cleveland  to  meet  the  men.  The 
captain  of  the  company  was  a  young  professor  of  mathematics 
named  Young,  later  better  known  as  Charles  Young,  astro- 
nomical professor  at  Princeton  for  many  years  and  deservedly 
distinguished  for  his  scientific  attainments.  He  was  a  genial 
fellow  of  about  twenty-eight  years  of  age,  but  sometimes 
rather  touchy  and  irritable.  I  attribute  this  to  the  fact  that 
he  was  rather  out  of  his  element  as  a  commander  of  troops. 
He  had  more  of  the  student  and  professor  in  him  than  the 
soldier,  and  was  easily  put  out  when  things  went  wrong.  How 
it  ever  happened  I  do  not  remember,  but  I  was  detailed  to  help 
him  with  some  records  or  accounts  for  a  time.  Things  went 
wrong,  got  mixed,  so  it  were.  Captain  Young  fumed  and 
was  angry,  and  put  the  entire  blame  upon  myself,  and  although 
it  so  happened  that  he  alone  was  in  fault,  I  had  to  bear  the 
burden  of  his  displeasure.  I  am  well  aware  that  in  clerical 
affairs,  and  especially  where  exact  arithmetical  details  are  re- 
quired, my  family  will  be  inclined  to  smile  when  I  assert  that 

112 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  113 

the  fault  could  lie  elsewhere  than  with  myself.  Yet  in  this 
case  it  did.  With  all  my  carelessness  and  blundering  I  seem 
to  remember  that  on  most,  if  not  all,  occasions  when  I  have 
been  put  upon  my  mettle  and  when  there  was  an  imperative 
duty,  however  uncongenial,  I  compelled  myself  to  perform  the 
task  with  a  fair  degree  of  acceptability. 

Arriving  at  Columbus  we  marched  to  Camp  Chase  about 
three  miles  from  the  city,  and  began  our  duties  as  guardians 
of  the  prison.  There  were  about  five  thousand  Confederate 
prisoners,  mostly  officers.  They  were  surrounded  by  the  usual 
stockade  of  posts,  about  twenty  feet  in  height,  with  a  walk 
for  the  sentinels  near  the  top,  running  around  the  whole  en- 
closure. For  four  months  we  guarded  these  prisoners,  and 
although  we  saw  no  active  dangerous  service,  yet  the  constant 
drilling,  the  exposure  to  excessive  heat,  and  the  long  night 
watches  made  the  affair  not  altogether  a  holiday  excursion. 
We  were  housed  by  companies,  six  barracks  to  a  company,  and 
eighteen  men  to  a  barrack.  There  were  six  bunks  to  a  bar- 
rack and  therefore  three  men  to  a  bunk.  The  camp  was  in- 
fested with  rats,  many  of  them  of  enormous  size.  They  were 
everywhere,  and  disgusting  as  it  is  to  relate,  I  myself  saw  a 
part  of  a  rat  pumped  up  from  one  of  the  wells  which  furnished 
us  drinking  water.  Diarrhoea  was  of  course  the  prevalent 
disease,  although  typhoid  fever  was  very  common.  Many 
were  sick,  and  in  the  short  space  of  four  months  three  of  our 
number,  hale  and  hearty  young  fellows  when  they  came,  died 
of  diseases  easily  preventable  in  these  days.  The  rats  would 
scurry  in  through  the  wide  open  door  at  night,  and  we  could 
hear  them  moving  about.  One  night  I  came  in  late,  thor- 
oughly tired  from  guard  duty.  I  disrobed  quickly,  climbed 
Into  my  berth,  and  was  soon  sound  asleep.  Some  noise 
awakened  me,  and  I  saw  a  big  rat  sitting  upright  in  an  open 
aperture  at  my  feet,  meant  for  a  window,  but  I  was  so  tired 
that  I  made  no  move.  The  thought  occurred  to  me,  "if  you 
will  stay  where  you  are,  old  rat,  I  won't  trouble  you."  I  went 
to  sleep  again,  but  was  soon  awakened  by  something  moving 
about  my  head.  Quick  as  a  flash  I  threw  up  my  hand  and 
grasped  the  vile  creature  by  the  body,  intending  to  throw  him 
through  the  window  or  on  the  floor.  In  some  way  he  wriggled 
from  my  grasp  and  landed  on  my  bare  legs  and  I  can  even 


ii4  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

now  recall  the  sensation  I  experienced.  I  seized  him  again 
about  the  middle  and  this  time  succeeded  in  tossing  him  to  the 
floor  where  he  landed  with  a  dull  thump  but  scampered  hur- 
riedly away. 

As  compared  with  the  other  companies  of  the  regiment,  our 
company  was  excellently  drilled.  On  one  occasion,  I  remem- 
ber, General  Lew  Wallace,  afterwards  the  famous  author  of 
"Ben  Hur,"  reviewed  the  regiment  and  witnessed  the  drill  of 
our  company.  His  comment  was,  "those  fellows  drill  like  the 
devil" — a  double-edged  compliment,  some  might  say,  but  we 
knew  that  it  was  meant  to  be  a  real  compliment.  In  the  light 
of  his  later  serious  religious  writing,  it  is  perhaps  difficult  to 
understand  that  at  that  time  his  use  of  profanity  was  very 
general. 

When  on  guard  duty,  which  consisted  of  two  hours  on  and 
four  hours  off,  night  and  day,  for  twenty-four  hours,  we  be- 
came more  or  less  interested  in  watching  the  doings  of  that 
great  mass  of  five  thousand  Confederate  prisoners.  We  were 
not,  of  course,  allowed  to  converse  with  them,  but  at  early 
dawn  especially  I  was  greatly  interested  to  see  them  emerge 
from  their  fairly  comfortable  quarters  and  scatter  over  the 
ground,  some  preparing  breakfast,  others  skylarking,  and 
still  others  taking  their  brisk  morning  constitutional.  Among 
the  latter  I  particularly  observed  one  man.  He  was  tall  and 
strikingly  handsome.  He  was  smoothly  shaven,  wore  a  wide 
sombrero,  a  very  long  cloak,  and  carried  a  cane  which  he 
whirled  round  and  round  as  he  walked  with  rapid  stride.  I 
saw  him  almost  every  morning  for  many  a  day  when  I  was 
on  duty,  but  suddenly  he  vanished.  For  more  than  a  score  of 
years  after  the  close  of  the  war,  whenever  I  thought  of  Camp 
Chase  I  thought  of  this  man.  I  wondered  who  he  was,  what- 
ever became  of  him,  what  his  history.  Indeed,  of  all  the  five 
thousand  prisoners  there,  his  was  the  only  distinct  personality 
save  one  that  left  any  impression  on  my  mind.  It  was,  I  think, 
sometime  in  the  early  eighties  that  I  was  called  to  treat  a 
John  George,  by  his  physician,  a  certain  Dr.  Theophilus 
Steele.  He  lived  in  his  own  fine  apartment  on  Thirty-first 
Street,  and  on  one  occasion  asked  me  to  stay  and  dine,  Dr. 
Steele,  an  old  Confederate  soldier,  being  also  one  of  the  num- 
ber.     In  the  course  of  the  conversation  I   remarked,   "Mr. 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  115 

George,  I  believe  you  formerly  lived  in  Lexington,  Kentucky. 
It  so  happens  that  I  had  a  college  classmate  by  the  name  of 
Tom  Morgan,  a  younger  brother  of  the  famous  General  Mor- 
gan, and  I  wonder  if  you  knew  him." 

George  replied,  "Why,  of  course  I  did,  and  before  the  war 
his  brother,  the  General,  and  I  were  partners  in  the  lumber 
business  down  there."  I  then  told  them  that  Tom  Morgan 
had  been  a  prisoner  at  Camp  Chase,  that  scarcely  a  year  be- 
fore we  had  sat  in  the  same  classroom  and  on  the  same  bench. 
"I  too  was  a  prisoner  there,"  said  George,  "and  so  too  was 
Dr.  Steele  here."  "Yes,"  said  Steele,  "and  afterwards  I  was 
the  last  man  that  kissed  poor  Tom  when  he  was  killed  in  an 
engagement."  George  hastened  to  say  that  he  was  not  a  pris- 
oner of  war  in  the  ordinary  sense,  but  was  only  a  political 
prisoner.  He  further  remarked  that  through  the  influence  of 
the  celebrated  Cassius  M.  Clay  he  was  finally  pardoned,  but 
there  happened  to  be  another  John  George  in  the  prison,  a 
little  shoemaker,  and  through  some  mistake  he  was  released 
instead,  and  only  after  great  difficulty  and  delay  was  his  own 
release  secured. 

The  thing  especially  interesting  in  the  affair  to  me  was  this : 
When  Mr.  George  told  me  that  he  too  had  been  a  prisoner 
at  Camp  Chase,  my  mind  immediately  reverted  to  that  ex- 
ceedingly handsome  man  who  had  for  a  quarter  of  a  century 
been  to  me  a  living  personality,  and  as  I  glanced  at  George, 
my  host,  sitting  at  the  head  of  the  table,  I  told  my  story  as  I 
have  already  recounted  it.  They  listened  with  interest,  espe- 
cially Dr.  Steele,  and  when  I  had  finished  he  said,  "and  did  he 
carry  a  big  cane,  which  he  recklessly  flourished  about  in  every 
direction?"  As  I  assented,  the  doctor  replied,  "George  is 
your  man."  It  was  indeed  he,  older  but  no  less  handsome 
than  he  had  been  years  before.  When  finally  Tom  Morgan 
left  the  prison  with  many  others  to  go  to  Vicksburg  for  ex- 
change, our  company  being  the  escort,  I  had  an  occasional 
opportunity  to  speak  to  him.  As  before  told,  he  was  subse- 
quently killed  in  battle,  as  was  also  his  brother,  the  famous 
General.  The  whole  affair  seemed  most  unusual  and  remark- 
able in  its  coincidences.  To  think  that  the  only  man  in  that 
great  crowd  of  five  thousand  prisoners  who  left  any  impres- 


n6  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

sion  on  my  mind,  and  of  whom  I  often  thought,  should  after 
an  interval  of  twenty-five  years  become  my  patient. 

How  events  interweave  and  connect  themselves  with  other 
events!  When  at  Camp  Chase,  my  old  friend  and  college- 
mate,  Percy  Browne,  had  ridden  over  to  the  camp  from 
Columbus  and  called  upon  me.  Before  coming  to  Kenyon  he 
had  been  a  bookkeeper  in  a  large  brokerage  house  in  New 
York,  where  my  cousin  William  Comstock  was  a  junior  part- 
ner. Mr.  George  happened  to  tell  me  that  after  his  release 
he  went  to  New  York  and  made  three  thousand  dollars  in 
speculation  through  the  house  of  William  Dart  &  Co.  I  re- 
marked that  my  cousin,  a  Mr.  Comstock,  was  connected  with 
the  firm.  "Why,"  he  replied,  "it  was  Comstock  who  paid  me 
the  money,  and  when  he  asked  how  I  wanted  it,  I  said  in  gold." 
George  then  went  abroad  and  told  me  that  he  returned  with 
a  good  deal  more  money  than  he  took.  "Where  did  you  get 
it?"  I  inquired.  "At  Baden  Baden,"  was  his  brief  response. 
It  was  at  Mr.  George's  that  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Major 
General  Crittenden,  one  of  the  sons  of  the  celebrated  states- 
man of  the  time  of  Webster  and  Clay,  and  the  sponsor  of  the 
Crittenden  Compromise.  The  Crittendens  were  Kentuckians, 
and  their  case  illustrated  one  of  the  many  sad  family  divisions 
of  the  South  during  the  Civil  War,  some  fighting  on  the  side 
of  the  North,  others  on  the  side  of  the  South  as  in  the  case  of 
this  family.  The  Crittenden  in  question  was  a  Corps  Com- 
mander in  the  Union  Army,  but  was,  I  believe,  not  very  suc- 
cessful. 

While  we  were  stationed  at  Camp  Chase  there  were  several 
rumors  of  outbreaks  among  the  prisoners  and  attempts  to 
escape,  and  the  regiment  was  more  than  once  silently  called 
out  at  night  to  surround  the  stockade  enclosing  the  Confeder- 
ates ;  but  there  was  never  any  general  push  for  freedom,  and 
I  doubt  whether  it  was  ever  seriously  considered.  However 
many  hardships  they  subsequently  endured — and  it  is  idle  to  say 
there  was  no  suffering  during  the  cold  winters  of  a  northern 
clime.  I  am  able  to  assert  confidently  that  at  Camp  Chase, 
during  the  summer  we  were  there,  the  Confederate  prisoners 
were  well  fed,  well  housed,  and  able  to  keep  perfectly  clean,  as 
water  in  abundance  was  to  be  had  for  the  getting  or  the  ask- 
ing.   The  barracks  were  the  same  as  those  for  our  own  men, 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  117 

and  the  food  too.  There  was  no  dead  line  at  first,  although 
I  believe  it  was  afterwards  established. 

A  ludicrous  incident  occurred  one  night  when  a  number  of 
prisoners  escaped,  ail  of  whom  were  subsequently  captured; 
and  the  funny  side  I  did  not  know  until  many  years  after  when 
I  met  in  New  York  the  Mr.  George  to  whom  I  have  alluded. 
It  seems  that  he  was  in  this  strike  for  freedom.  About  a 
dozen  were  in  the  secret.  There  being  no  dead  line,  a  Texan 
secreted  himself  in  a  big  box,  open  at  one  end,  and  Confeder- 
ates carried  it  to  the  stockade,  for  the  ostensible  purpose  of 
playing  cards  on  it.  Those  directly  interested,  and  with  sup- 
plies in  their  pockets,  gathered  about  the  box  v/hile  two  of 
them  mounted  it  and  began  the  game.  Meanwhile,  the  one 
inside  with  the  requisite  tools  proceeded  to  saw  a  hole  through 
the  stockade.  When  finished,  the  signal  was  given  from 
within  the  box,  and  the  escape  began.  George,  as  I  have  said, 
was  a  big  fellow,  and  when  his  turn  came  he  could  not  get 
through.  Those  behind  were  impatient  and  told  George  to 
get  out  of  the  way  and  if  he  was  too  big,  to  give  the  others  a 
chance ;  so  he  had  the  chagrin  of  seeing  the  smaller  men  glide 
through  and  away.  Now  it  happened  that  the  guard  on  duty 
was  very  young,  very  green,  and  very  stupid.  So  amazed  was 
he  to  see  his  prisoners  thus  escaping  that,  instead  of  shooting, 
he  kept  repeating,  "You  shouldn't  do  that,  should  you?"  All 
in  all,  it  was  just  as  well  that  George  was  too  big,  since  every 
man  was  recaptured. 

The  Grand  Rounds  is  a  ceremony  that  takes  place  at  mid- 
night. It  is  quite  an  important  occasion.  The  officer  of  the 
day,  accompanied  by  others,  makes  the  round  of  the  guards  to 
see  that  everything  is  all  right.  The  "relief"  is  quite  another 
function.  There  are  four  of  them,  the  first,  second,  third,  and 
fourth  reliefs.  Every  soldier  when  on  guard  knows  what  his 
relief  is,  and  eagerly  awaits  it.  On  one  occasion  a  new  recruit 
was  on  guard.  He  knew  that  his  relief  was  the  third  and  was 
on  the  lookout  for  it.  He  saw  the  Grand  Rounds  approach- 
ing, but  in  his  mind  he  had  no  thought  of  anything  but  the 
third  relief,  which  meant  his  bunk  and  sleep.  His  duty  was  to 
cry  out,  "Halt,  who  goes  there?  "  The  answer  would  be  "The 
Grand  Rounds."  Then  the  guard  would  say — "Advance  one 
and  give  the  countersign."     So  great  was  his  disappointment, 


n8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

however,  that  he  either  forgot  or  disdained  the  correct  for- 
mula, and  replied  "To  h — 1  with  the  Grand  Rounds.  I 
thought  it  was  the  third  relief." 

The  three  months  for  which  we  had  enlisted  passed  away, 
and  none  too  quickly,  but  for  some  reason  of  necessity  the 
government  held  us  another  month  before  giving  us  our  dis- 
charge. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ALMOST  immediately,  I  left  for  Ann  Arbor  to  begin 
my  first  course  of  lectures  in  the  Medical  Department. 
Ann  Arbor  was  even  then  a  fine  old  town,  and  the  Uni- 
versity buildings  of  some  pretensions,  although  far  from  what 
they  are  at  the  present  day.  President  Tappan  was  the  head 
of  the  institution,  a  man  of  wide  repute  as  an  educator,  now, 
of  course,  long  since  dead.  His  successor,  President  Angell, 
after  many  years  of  successful  service,  passed  away  also — so 
quickly  do  we  come  and  go.  My  five  months'  stay  at  Ann 
Arbor  are  filled  with  pleasing  recollections.  I  made  some 
good  friends  and  got  as  fair  a  start  in  the  rudiments  of  my 
profession  as  one  could  well  get  where  most  of  the  instruction 
was  didactic,  with  few  opportunities  to  watch  operations  or 
study  disease  first-hand. 

One  of  my  most  interesting  friendships  was  with  Henry  B. 
Landon,  a  graduate  of  the  academic  department  of  the  Uni- 
versity and  with  myself  a  student  in  the  medical  department. 
Like  myself  he  was  an  Alpha  Delta,  a  common  interest,  which 
probably  brought  us  together.  I  see  him  now,  clad  in  his  long 
military  cloak  and  limping  his  way  along  the  campus  with  the 
aid  of  his  cane.  Landon  was  from  Monroe,  Michigan,  where 
his  father  was  a  physician.  From  this  town  also  came  the 
noted  cavalryman,  General  George  A.  Custer,  with  whom 
Landon  went  to  school  and  whose  friend  he  was.  As  Custer 
is  a  national  character  and  hero,  it  is  of  interest  to  recall  Lan- 
don's  personal  knowledge  of  a  fact  or  two  in  his  career.  Cus- 
ter's parents  were  respectable,  but  he  did  not  by  any  means 
belong  (to  use  a  common  expression)  to  the  so-called  best 
social  element  of  the  town.  After  young  Custer's  graduation 
from  West  Point,  he  fell  in  love  with  Bessie  Bacon,  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  judge,  and  by  comparison  one  of  the  social  aristocrats. 
The  judge  objected,  so  the  two  ran  away  and  were  married. 
The  judge  and  his  family  were  wroth  for  a  while,  but  the  ris- 
ing fame  of  the  brilliant  soldier  soon  reconciled  them,  and 
later  they  were  very  proud  of  the  connection.  My  friend, 
Landon,  was  lame.     After  his  graduation  from  the  Univer- 

119 


120  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

sity  in  1861,  he  went  to  the  front  as  adjutant  of  a  Michigan 
regiment.  At  the  battle  of  Fair  Oaks  he  was  severely 
wounded,  and  receiving  his  discharge,  entered  the  medical 
department  of  the  University,  where  our  acquaintance  began. 
Subsequently,  like  myself,  he  again  entered  the  service  as 
assistant  surgeon.  After  the  war  he  settled  in  Bay  City, 
Michigan,  where  he  practised  for  many  years  and  where  he 
still  resides. 

During  my  winter  in  Ann  Arbor  I  occasionally  visited  De- 
troit, where  my  Aunt  Deborah  Nash,  my  mother's  oldest  sis- 
ter, lived.  Her  daughter  Fannie  had  married  a  Mr.  Nail,  a 
prosperous  merchant  of  that  town ;  but  she  had  died  a  few  years 
before,  leaving  two  children  in  the  care  of  my  aunt.  I  greatly 
enjoyed  these  little  runs  to  Detroit,  both  because  of  the  change 
and  because  of  some  pleasant  acquaintances  I  made  among 
the  young  ladies  of  the  neighborhood.  Detroit  was  then  a  sim- 
ple, provincial  town,  where  everybody  seemed  to  know  every- 
body else,  very  different  from  the  great  city  of  to-day.  One 
of  the  young  ladies  whom  I  met  lived  in  a  large,  fine  house  on 
Woodward  Avenue,  not  far  from  Mr.  Nail's,  and  one  day  a 
party  of  us,  including  this  young  lady,  went  to  the  river  to 
skate.  With  her  for  my  partner,  I  was  flying  over  the  ice, 
when  suddenly  in  we  went  up  to  our  necks.  The  current  was 
swift,  and  the  ice  broke  several  times  as  we  endeavored  to  lift 
ourselves  out.  I  could  feel  the  current  swaying  the  lower  part 
of  my  body  under  the  ice  as  I  fought  my  way  to  a  firmer  sec- 
tion of  it.  My  companion  behaved  admirably,  clinging  to  the 
solid  ice  as  I  directed,  until  by  exercising  all  my  strength,  I 
managed  to  get  out,  when  it  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment 
to  extricate  her  from  her  perilous  position.  We  were  of 
course  wet  through  and  shivering  with  cold.  A  horse  and 
sleigh  were  near  with  no  owner  in  sight,  and  piling  in  we 
drove  rapidly  to  the  young  lady's  home.  Her  brother  met  the 
irate  owner  of  the  rig,  a  German.  The  young  man  explained 
the  situation  and  offered  to  pay  for  the  liberty  we  had  taken; 
but  nothing  would  satisfy  the  unreasonable  fellow.  Later  he 
sued  the  young  lady's  father,  and  a  sensible  jury  awarded  him 
six  and  one-half  cents  damages. 

Another  of  my  pleasant  Ann  Arbor  acquaintances  was  a 
young  man  by  the  name  of  Poe,  from  Ravenna,  Ohio.     We 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  121 

roomed  together  for  some  time,  and  I  remember  subsequently 
visiting  him  at  his  home  in  Ravenna.  He  was  a  remarkably- 
self-reliant,  aggressive  young  man  and  bound  to  make  his  way 
in  the  world.  I  went  to  New  York  for  my  second  course  of 
lectures,  and  graduated  there,  while  he  received  his  degree 
from  the  University  of  Michigan.  Soon  after  our  graduation 
we  again  met  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  both  seeking  a  medical 
appointment  in  the  army.  He  was  assigned  to  a  western  regi- 
ment, I  to  an  eastern,  or  rather  to  one  serving  in  the  eastern 
army.  Poe  went  with  Sherman's  army  to  the  sea  and  as  that 
army  passed  near  Richmond  on  its  way  to  Washington,  he  lo- 
cated my  regiment  and  called  upon  me.  We  then  parted,  and 
for  fifty  years  we  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  each  other. 
One  reason  for  this  I  suppose  was  the  fact  that  he  never  re- 
sumed the  practice  of  medicine,  abandoning  it  for  a  mercantile 
life  in  which  he  had  a  successful  career.  Recently  this  same 
man  called  me  on  the  telephone,  saying  that  he  was  on  his  way 
to  Flushing  to  see  me.  He  was  then  seventy-six  years  of  age. 
We  passed  several  hours  in  pleasant  chat,  reviving  old  times 
and  characters,  and  altogether  the  reunion  was  delightful. 
When  we  parted  it  was  with  the  expectation  of  meeting  again 
at  no  distant  period.  A  month  or  more  later  his  niece  in  New 
York,  whom  I  had  never  met,  called  me  up  saying  that  her 
uncle  was  dead.  After  our  meeting  and  his  return  to  his  home 
in  Cleveland,  grippe,  pneumonia  and  death  quickly  followed. 

One  other  incident  connected  with  my  brief  stay  in  Ann 
Arbor  is  not  without  interest.  Soon  after  my  arrival,  a  young 
man  named  Anderson  temporarily  became  my  roommate. 
He  was  from  Kentucky.  We  roomed  together  for  the  brief 
space  of  a  week,  and  about  the  only  thing  that  I  remember 
regarding  him  is  the  fact  that,  one  time  as  he  was  undressing 
to  go  to  bed,  a  loaded  pistol  fell  to  the  floor.  I  told  him  that 
men  did  not  carry  arms  in  the  north,  and  advised  him  to  put 
it  in  his  trunk.  I  suppose  the  incident  of  the  revolver  fastened 
his  name  in  my  mind,  although  I  do  not  remember  seeing  him 
again  after  our  week's  acquaintance. 

Not  very  long  ago,  my  cousin,  Dr.  T.  Hawley  Rockwell, 
of  the  Equitable  Life  Assurance  Society,  sent  me  a  letter 
which  he  had  received  from  a  Mr.  Anderson,  asking  him  if 
he  knew  of  a  Dr.  A.  D.  Rockwell,  and  where  he  could  be 


122  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

found,  indicating  that  he  owed  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  him  and 
would  be  glad  to  communicate  with  him.  I  immediately  wrote 
to  Mr.  Anderson  who  was  then  the  president  of  a  bank  in  a 
southern  city  and  evidently  a  prosperous  man.  I  told  him  I 
remembered  him  well  and  alluded  to  the  incident  of  the  pistol. 
In  his  reply  he  said  that  he  did  not  remember  that  incident, 
but  an  altogether  different  occurrence  that  left  its  impress  on 
his  mind.  He  had  been  brought  up  by  godly  parents,  he  said, 
but  had  forgotten  their  precepts  and  as  he  believed  was  on 
his  way  to  spiritual  ruin  when  he  left  home  and  fell  in  with  me. 
He  reminded  me  that,  on  our  first  evening  together,  we  studied 
our  lessons,  and  that  finally  I  arose,  took  up  a  Bible,  and  after 
reading  a  chapter,  knelt  down  and  said  my  prayers.  "This," 
he  continued,  and  I  am  using  his  own  words,  "was  done  so 
quietly  and  so  unostentatiously  that  I  was  greatly  impressed 
and  followed  your  example,  and  from  that  time  began  to  lead 
a  new  life."  That  what  I  did  should  in  this  way  have  been  a 
help  to  any  human  being  is  a  source  of  gratification  and  is  a 
powerful  illustration  of  the  power  of  example.  The  incident 
illustrates  also  how  things  are  remembered  according  as  they 
impress  the  mind  at  the  time.  I  remember  nothing  of  the 
prayer  incident,  because  it  was  then  a  common  occurrence. 
He  remembered  it  because  the  incident  was  to  him  unique, 
while  the  affair  of  the  pistol  was  commonplace.  I  am  afraid 
I  prayed  more  then  than  I  do  now. 

In  the  spring  of  1863  I  returned  to  my  home  in  Milan,  con- 
tinuing the  study  of  medicine  in  the  office  of  my  preceptor, 
Dr.  Dean. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN  the  fall  of  1863  I  left  Milan  with  all  its  pleasant  associ- 
ations, and  went  to  New  York  to  enter  the  Bellevue  Hos- 
pital Medical  College  for  my  final  course  of  lectures.  A 
married  brother  was  living  on  One  Hundred  and  Nineteenth 
Street,  Harlem,  and  with  him  I  made  my  home.  Harlem  at 
that  time  was  no  more  than  a  sparsely  settled  suburb,  with  its 
houses  mostly  in  the  east  side  along  the  Harlem  River.  Com- 
munication with  the  lower  town  was  by  the  old-fashioned 
horse  cars,  which  served  my  purpose  during  the  winter  in 
going  to  and  fro. 

This  medical  college  had  been  founded  only  a  few  years 
before,  but  had  immediately  become  prosperous  and  much 
patronized.  One  reason  for  its  prosperity  was  its  intimate 
association  with  the  great  Bellevue  Hospital,  which  afforded 
clinical  advantage  quite  unsurpassed  at  the  time.  Its  great 
rival  was  the  old  College  of  Physicians  and  Surgeons,  and  one 
reason  for  Bellevue's  existence  was  that  it  afforded  an  outlet 
for  the  ambitions  of  a  number  of  very  able  members  of  the 
profession  who  wished  to  teach,  but  for  whom  there  was  no 
place  in  the  other  schools.  The  old  college  was  a  rather  close 
corporation  and  no  outsiders  were  wanted.  This  was  illus- 
trated by  the  following  incident : 

Many  years  later  when  engaged  in  developing  the  field  of 
electrotherapeutics,  Dr.  John  T.  Metcalfe,  with  his  open 
and  generous  mind  and  appreciation  of  the  value  and  the  fine 
possibilities  of  this  neglected  agent,  suggested  to  me  that  I  do 
something  in  the  way  of  teaching.  I  readily  agreed  with  him, 
and  he,  being  professor  of  clinical  medicine  in  the  school, 
said  that  he  would  bring  the  matter  before  the  faculty.  Dr. 
Beard  and  myself  were  pretty  well  known  by  this  time.  What 
we  had  written  had  been  favorably  recognized  both  at  home 
and  abroad,  and  I  prematurely  thought  myself  quite  sure  of 
obtaining  this  fine  opportunity.  But  alas  for  my  hopes !  Dr. 
Metcalfe,  with  some  annoyance,  was  compelled  to  admit  that 
the  proposition  was  unfavorably  and  coldly  received.  I  was 
not  wanted,  nor  any  of  my  kind,  for  to  this  day  this  great 
adjunct  of  Columbia  University  has  given  no  recognition  that 
amounts  to  anything  of  this  valuable  and  firmly  established 

123 


i24  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

department  of  therapeutics.  Nevertheless,  the  individual 
members  of  the  faculty  abundantly  recognized  the  value  of 
our  methods  by  turning  over  to  us  many  interesting  and  im- 
portant cases. 

The  faculty  of  our  college  (Bellevue)  was  quite  the  equal 
in  culture  and  general  mental  equipment  of  the  faculty  of 
the  older  institution.  I  recall  with  pleasure  these  men,  now 
little  more  than  a  memory,  every  one  of  them.  There  was 
Austin  Flint,  Sr.,  professor  of  medicine,  truly  a  grand  old 
man.  His  personality,  grave  and  commanding,  yet  withal 
genial,  was  an  inspiration.  He  was  without  affectation  and 
without  guile.  In  his  presence  you  felt  the  influence  of  a 
great  sincerity  as  of  one  who  could  be  trusted  to  do  no  false 
thing.  His  teaching  was  straightforward  and  his  writings 
gave  him  authority  and  fame.  His  books  are  now  superseded, 
but  in  his  day  they  were  authoritative.  With  a  number  of 
fellow  students  I  took  private  instruction  from  him  in  auscul- 
tation and  percussion,  and  on  a  certain  occasion  gained  quite 
undeserved  commendation  for  acuteness  of  diagnosis.  Halt- 
ing at  the  bedside  of  a  ward-patient,  we  were  told  to  examine 
him  and  to  state  our  diagnosis.  Everyone  diagnosed  tuber- 
culosis, excepting  myself.  For  no  good  reason,  except  that  I 
had  been  reading  about  chronic  pneumonia,  and  an  impulse 
to  say  something  different  from  the  others,  I  diagnosed  this 
disease.  The  professor  confirmed  the  diagnosis  of  the  ma- 
jority, which  gave  me  no  concern,  as  I  really  had  little  foun- 
dation for  my  assertion.  Judge  of  my  astonishment  then, 
when  soon  after,  in  one  of  the  public  clinical  lectures,  this 
same  patient  was  brought  before  the  school  in  a  greatly  im- 
proved condition,  and  as  an  object  lesson.  The  professor 
told  of  the  incident  and  wished  to  say  that  the  solitary  student 
who  diagnosed  chronic  pneumonia  was  right  and  all  the 
others,  including  himself,  were  wrong.  He  mentioned  no 
names,  which  was  just  as  well,  since  my  diagnosis  was  purely 
a  lucky  guess,  no  more.  One  can  often  gain  a  reputation  for 
wisdom  on  even  a  less  foundation. 

His  son,  Austin  Flint,  Jr.,  was  the  professor  of  physiology. 
He  died  recently  at  the  age  of  about  eighty,  leaving  a  son  in 
active  practice,  Austin  Flint,  3rd.  Flint,  Jr.,  was  a  brilliant 
lecturer  and  the  author  of  a  voluminous  treatise  on  physiology. 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  125 

In  character  he  was  very  unlike  his  distinguished  father.  He 
was  endowed  in  good  measure  with  his  father's  savoir  faire 
but  not  with  his  savoir  vivre. 

Another  rare  man  was  the  genial  Fordyce  Barker,  profes- 
sor of  obstetrics.  With  his  florid  complexion,  his  wealth  of 
hair,  slightly  tinged  with  gray,  his  handsome  face,  and  eyes 
beaming  with  kindliness,  intelligence,  and  humor,  he  was  a 
striking  figure  in  any  company.  As  a  lecturer  he  was  always 
most  interesting  and  instructive,  and  frequently  enlivened  his 
discourse  with  amusing  stories  always  relevant  to  the  subject 
under  discussion.  Barker  was  a  warm  friend  and  admirer  of 
Charles  Dickens,  and  on  one  occasion  when  I  was  in  his  office 
he  pointed  with  pride  to  an  engraving  of  Gad's  Hill,  with 
Dickens  at  his  desk.  Dickens  had  presented  this  to  him  dur- 
ing one  of  his  visits  to  the  great  author.  But  for  a  peculiarly 
husky  voice,  the  result  of  some  obscure  pathological  condition, 
Dr.  Barker  would  have  been  far  more  attractive  as  a  speaker 
than  he  was.  He  came  for  treatment  to  me  in  after  years, 
drawn  by  the  novelty  of  the  new  method.  He  was  all  opti- 
mism as  usual,  and  felt  sure  that  I  could  help  him;  but  nothing 
came  of  it.  Finally  he  grew  old  and  decrepit,  as  is  the  lot  of 
all  who  pass  the  Psalmist's  limit,  and  this  gave  rise  on  one 
occasion  to  a  painful  and  pathetic  scene.  He  attended  an 
important  gathering  of  the  New  York  Academy  of  Medicine, 
over  which  dignified  body  he  had  formerly  presided,  and 
which  he  had  adorned  by  his  grace  and  his  facility  and  felicity 
of  speech.  He  was  asked  to  address  the  assembly.  Feebly  he 
arose  and  with  faltering  voice  began.  He  soon  hesitated, 
lost  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  looked  helplessly  around  and 
was  led  tenderly  and  respectfully  back  to  his  seat. 

The  professor  of  chemistry,  Dr.  R.  Ogden  Doremus,  was 
perhaps  the  most  remarkable  member  of  the  faculty  and  more 
nearly  approached  genius  than  any  of  his  companions.  He 
had  lost  an  arm  in  experimental  work  many  years  before,  but 
the  dexterity  with  which  he  carried  out  his  delicate  chemical 
experiments  would  have  done  credit  to  any  two-armed  man. 
As  Macaulay  made  history  as  interesting  as  fiction,  so  Dore- 
mus made  dull  chemistry  as  interesting  as,  shall  I  say  fire- 
works? He  was  a  perfect  juggler  in  a  way,  not  by  any  means 
of  imposture,  but  he  delighted  in  doing  simple  things  in  a 


126  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

large  and  impressive  manner.  He  was  a  wonderful  talker, 
and  he  talked  well  on  many  things.  He  delighted  in  the 
theatre  and  music,  and  especially  in  music,  and  his  house  was 
a  center  for  people  artistically  inclined.  Ole  Bull  was  one  of 
his  warmest  friends,  and  of  him  the  pretty  story  is  told  that, 
when  the  great  violinist  was  on  his  death  bed,  he  sent  his  watch 
to  Doremus  with  the  message  that  "he  sent  it  ticking  from  his 
heart  to  that  of  his  friend."  He  and  Dr.  Barker  were  kindred 
spirits  and  warm  friends,  and  in  my  occasional  visits  to  the 
theatre  or  choice  musical  entertainments  I  occasionally  saw 
them  together. 

Dr.  George  T.  Eliot,  professor  of  obstetrics  and  gyne- 
cology, was  a  bright  and  elegant  gentleman.  He  dressed  with 
perfect  taste  and  was  immaculate  to  the  smallest  detail  of 
his  attire.  He  was  the  author  of  a  treatise  along  his  line, 
and  was  a  fairly  good  lecturer.  He  was  a  great  diner-out, 
and  without  much  doubt  was  the  victim  of  too  high  living, 
for  at  the  early  age  of  forty-five  he  was  stricken  with  paralysis. 
He  came  to  me  for  treatment,  which  proved  of  little  avail. 
I  was  present  at  the  post  mortem,  which  revealed  extensive 
fatty  degeneration  of  the  middle  cerebral  artery,  induced 
undoubtedly  by  his  habit  of  too  generous  living.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  he  was  in  any  way  intemperate  in  the  ordi- 
nary sense  of  the  word.  His  was  a  fine,  high-toned  character, 
and  his  end  illustrates  how  deadly  may  be  the  results  of  rich 
living  and  little  exercise.  His  sympathy  and  good  nature 
are  illustrated  in  an  incident  that  occurred  in  my  own  experi- 
ence. Dr.  William  A.  Hammond,  the  noted  neurologist,  was 
to  read  a  paper  on  some  neurological  question  before  the 
New  York  County  Medical  Society  of  which  Eliot  was  then 
president.  Although  young  and  a  novice  in  the  art  of  public 
speaking,  I  determined  to  discuss  at  the  proper  time  the  topic 
presented.  I  therefore  prepared  myself  thoroughly  and  com- 
mitted the  whole  to  memory,  word  for  word.  After  several 
had  spoken,  I  arose.  In  a  few  moments  I  became  dazed, 
everything  was  a  blank.  The  room  did  not  swim,  nor  did 
my  trousers  seem  too  big  for  my  legs,  as  was  the  experience 
of  Stewart  L.  Woodford  in  his  first  speech  before  a  great 
assemblage.  Unlike  him,  also,  I  suppose  I  did  not  know  my 
speech  as  well  as  I  knew  the  Lord's  Prayer.     At  all  events, 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  127 

not  a  word  could  I  recall,  and  after  floundering  around  a  while 
I  subsided  into  my  seat  covered  with  confusion.  On  the  fol- 
lowing day  I  wrote  a  word  of  apology  to  the  presiding  officer 
for  my  ignominious  failure.  Dr.  Eliot  wrote  a  long  and 
soothing  letter  in  reply,  made  light  of  my  failure,  urged  me 
not  to  be  discouraged  but  to  try  again,  and  quoted  the  great 
English  orator,  Sheridan,  who  after  a  similar  failure  said: 
"It's  in  me,  d — n  it,  and  I'll  bring  it  out."  Unlike  Sheridan, 
there  was  but  little  talent  in  me  in  the  direction  of  public 
speaking,  but  I  soon  found  that  if  I  was  perfectly  familiar 
with  my  subject  I  could  speak  about  it.  Thereafter,  in  dis- 
cussing a  scientific  question,  I  never  committed  the  words  to 
memory.  This  method  only  confuses,  for  when  one  forgets  a 
word,  he  is  apt  to  forget  the  next  and  is  liable  to  be  thrown 
into  utter  mental  confusion.  On  a  subsequent  occasion  when 
I  read  the  paper  of  the  evening,  Dr.  Hammond  being  one  of 
the  speakers  in  discussion,  I  had  better  luck.  I  was  arguing 
for  the  benefit  of  electricity  in  certain  constitutional  symptoms 
on  account  of  its  tonic  or  nutritional  effects.  Dr.  Hammond 
denied  the  truth  of  my  contention  because  of  the  purely  super- 
ficial effects  of  the  electric  current.  To  illustrate  and  prove 
this  he  referred  to  the  well-known  experiment  cited  in  text- 
books on  chemistry,  the  experiment  with  the  brass  ball  and 
the  gauze  bag,  which  when  charged  with  frictional  electricity 
retains  the  charge  only  on  the  outside.  It  was  very  easy  to 
convince  my  opponent  and  my  audience  that  experiments  with 
a  brass  ball  and  the  human  body  were  by  no  means  parallel. 
The  ball  is  a  dense  homogeneous  mass.  The  body,  on  the 
contrary,  conducts  by  virtue  of  the  blood,  its  saline  solution, 
the  skin,  or  outer  covering  being  a  poor  conductor.  When  the 
skin  is  moistened,  however,  its  poor  conductibility  is  over- 
come, and  the  current,  meeting  the  blood,  is  diffused,  taking 
the  most  direct  path  from  pole  to  pole.  I  then  asked  Dr. 
Hammond  if  he  had  practical  experience  with  the  method 
under  discussion.  He  acknowledged  that  he  had  not,  which 
gave  me  the  opportunity  to  reply  that  manifestly  he  was  not 
qualified  to  pass  judgment  upon  it.  So  far  from  being 
offended,  Dr.  Hammond  then  and  there  engaged  me  to  write 
for  his  journal,  and  Dr.  George  M.  Shrady,  the  well-known 
editor  of  the  Medical  Record,  approached  me  to  say  that  a 


iz8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

big  man  had  opposed  me,  but  that  I  had  had  the  best  of  the 
discussion. 

James  R.  Wood,  professor  of  surgery,  was  one  of  the  most 
skillful  and  fearless  surgeons  in  the  country.  He  was  a 
little  man  and  unlettered.  Indeed,  at  times  his  grammar  was 
not  of  the  best,  nor  was  he  a  fluent  speaker,  but  his  knowledge, 
his  earnestness,  his  common  sense,  and  his  deep  devotion  to 
his  professional  work,  enabled  him  to  command  the  attention 
of  his  listeners.  When  I  was  young  in  practice  he  once  sent 
for  me  to  come  to  his  office.  I  found  there  a  man  with  an 
immense  tumor  on  the  side  of  his  neck,  and  so  extremely  vas- 
cular that  the  doctor  hesitated  to  use  the  knife.  Pointing  to 
the  growth,  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  take  that  off."  "Very 
well,"  I  said,  "if  you  will  stand  by  me."  "I  will  stand  by  you 
all  right,"  he  replied.  He  meant  that  I  should  use  the  actual 
cautery,  which  I  understood  and  he  did  not.  The  next  day  he 
took  me  in  his  carriage  to  the  patient's  house,  and  although 
the  tumor  was  highly  vascular,  the  white-hot  platinum  loops 
removed  it  with  not  the  loss  of  a  teaspoonful  of  blood. 

Dr.  Frank  H.  Hamilton  was  another  of  the  professors  of 
surgery,  a  far  more  scholarly  man  than  Wood,  but  his  in- 
ferior in  surgical  skill.  He  was  the  author  of  a  very  able 
and  popular  treatise,  on  fractures  and  dislocations.  The 
difference  in  practical  efficiency  between  the  two  men  is  well 
illustrated  by  the  following  incident.  Professor  Hamilton 
was  lecturing  one  day  on  dislocations,  and  the  subject  of  his 
lecture  was  a  man  with  a  dislocation  of  the  hip  joint.  After 
talking  learnedly  for  a  while,  he  made  several  attempts  to  re- 
duce it  and  failed.  Somewhat  exhausted  by  his  violent  efforts, 
he  turned  to  Wood,  who  happened  to  be  present,  and  as  an 
act  of  courtesy  asked  if  he  would  like  to  take  a  hand  in  it. 
"Little  Jimmy,"  as  the  students  affectionately  called  him,  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  with  alacrity,  seized  the  limb  and  manipu- 
lated it  this  way  and  that  with  the  utmost  vigor.  He  grew 
redder  in  the  face,  if  that  were  possible,  through  this  unusual 
activity,  and  finally,  as  he  made  one  supreme  effort,  lost  his 
footing  and  fell  flat  over  the  body  of  his  patient.  Wood 
leaped  to  his  feet  and  with  increased  fury  resumed  his  manipu- 
lations. This  way,  that  way,  every  way,  flew  the  offending 
member,  until  by  a  skilful  turn,  back  went  the  head  of  the 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  129 

bone,  with  an  audible  click,  into  its  socket.  Then  followed  a 
round  of  applause,  gratifying,  no  doubt,  to  the  vanity  of  Dr. 
Wood,  but  a  little  humiliating  to  Dr.  Hamilton.  I  do  not 
attempt  to  describe  the  patient's  feelings  about  the  matter; 
but  I  remember  that  he  did  not  join  in  the  applause. 

Dr.  Hamilton  was  one  of  the  consulting  surgeons  in  attend- 
ance upon  President  Garfield.  They  were  all  greatly  mis- 
taken in  their  diagnosis  and  prognosis,  and  Dr.  Hamilton, 
himself,  in  talking  to  me  about  the  matter,  expressed  his  entire 
confidence  in  the  recovery  of  the  President.  I  shall  always 
remember  Dr.  Hamilton  not  only  as  the  perfect  gentleman 
and  scholar,  but  as  one  of  the  most  kindly  and  conscientious 
men  I  ever  knew. 

Professor  Stephen  Smith,  another  professor  of  surgery, 
alone  still  survives  (19 19)  of  all  that  faculty.  He  is  far  over 
ninety,  but  with  faculties  yet  unimpaired.  His  long  life  has 
been  a  pattern  of  efficient  work.  I  took  private  lessons  from 
him  in  minor  surgery  and  in  bandaging,  which  stood  me  in 
good  stead  during  my  army  service. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  Dr.  Isaac  E.  Taylor,  the  presi- 
dent of  the  college.  Dr.  Taylor  was  a  most  amiable  man. 
His  daughter  married  Pierre  Lorillard.  He,  too,  was  a  pro- 
fessor of  gynecology  and  obstetrics,  and  while  he  was  un- 
doubtedly a  good  obstetrician,  he  had  a  very  bungling  way  of 
imparting  information.  Among  other  recollections  of  Dr. 
Taylor,  I  can  still  see  him  in  the  college  grounds,  surrounded 
by  a  number  of  persistent  and  excited  women  students  who 
had  been  excluded  from  the  lectures  and  medical  clinics.  This 
was  in  the  early  days  of  the  agitation  for  "equal  rights  for 
women."  There  were  then  but  few  of  them  seeking  a  medi- 
cal education,  but  as  usual  they  sought  it  with  tempestuous 
ardor.  A  few  of  them  had,  before  this  time  of  which  I  speak, 
attended  the  various  clinics  and  lectures.  Amid  the  great 
crowd  of  boisterous  youths  they  did  seem  misplaced,  and 
on  one  occasion  when  Dr.  Wood  had  before  him  a  man  pa- 
tient with  one  of  the  diseases  of  men,  he  looked  glaringly 
around,  uncovered  the  patient  and  thus  began.  "We  have 
been  accustomed  to  associate  with  the  character  of  woman  all 
those  charms  and  delicate  emotions  which  enable  her  to 
adorn  the  home,   and  how  she   can  come  here,   among  this 


1 3o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

crowd  of  men,  and  witness,  without  blushing,  such  a  scene  as 
this,  is  beyond  my  comprehension."  Then  followed  loud 
applause  from  the  men,  but  through  it  all  this  handful  of 
women  stoutly  held  their  position,  until  finally  excluded  from 
the  lecture  room.  Things  are  different  now  and  who  will  say 
that  these  women  pioneers  in  the  study  of  medicine  did  not 
possess  the  courage  of  the  old  pioneers  who  opened  a  new 
civilization  in  our  western  country? 

It  may  all  be  a  fancy,  but  the  great  physicians  of  those  days 
seem  to  loom  up  larger  than  those  of  this  generation.  There 
were  the  consultants,  Alonzo  Clark  and  Austin  Flint,  brainy 
and  big  physically,  and  who  in  relation  to  their  fellows  seemed 
in  a  way  to  stand  apart.  Among  the  surgeons  were  Parker, 
Sands,  Van  Buren,  and  Wood;  and  the  gynecologists,  Sims, 
Emmet,  and  Thomas,  constituted  a  trio  of  surpassing  excel- 
lence and  originality. 

The  distinctive  impression  made  by  these  men  and  a  few 
others  in  this  city  and  throughout  the  country  may  be  ac- 
counted for  in  part  by  paucity  of  numbers.  In  the  field  of 
literature  it  is  the  same,  and  the  rule  applies  also  to  our  esti- 
mate of  great  commanders  in  all  wars  previous  to  the  un- 
speakable world  war  lately  waged.  So  wonderfully  has  medi- 
cal and  surgical  proficiency  progressed  that  now  the  "woods 
are  full"  of  men  whose  knowledge  and  skill  are  equal  to  every 
emergency. 

But  let  us  not  forget  the  original  minds  preceding  us  that 
made  possible  the  triumphs  of  the  present.  As  a  single  ex- 
ample, the  discoveries  of  a  Sims  revolutionized  gynecology. 
His  statue  stands  in  Bryant  Park,  unnoticed  by  the  hurrying 
crowd,  but  the  women  of  the  world  have  cause  to  bless  his 
name  forever. 

Finally  in  March,  1864,  came  the  day  of  my  graduation. 
The  exercises  were  held  in  the  old  Academy  of  Music  on 
Fourteenth  Street,  and  when  my  name  was  called  to  ascend 
the  stage  and  receive  my  diploma,  it  seemed  a  momentous 
occasion,  as  if  the  eyes  of  the  world  must  be  centered  upon 
me.  Doubtless  each  one  of  the  other  odd  hundred  young 
graduates  felt  the  same.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  banquet 
given  to  the  graduates  by  Dr.  Taylor,  the  president,  at  his 
fine  house  on  Twenty-second  Street.     It  was  a  most  unfort- 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  131 

unate  and  foolish  thing,  but  champagne  flowed  like  water. 
Not  a  few  of  us  indulged  too  freely  for  our  own  good.  One 
of  my  classmates  was  a  man  named  Gamble,  from  Cincinnati, 
who  was  also  a  Kenyon  man.  It  was  a  long  way  to  my 
brother's  house  in  Harlem,  and  Gamble,  noticing  my  some- 
what unsteady  condition,  insisted  on  escorting  me  at  this  late 
time  in  the  night  to  the  General  Theological  Seminary,  where 
roomed  a  divinity  student,  named  Dunham,  who  was  another 
fellow  Kenyon  man  whom  we  both  well  knew.  He  and  his 
roommate  took  me  in,  thus  practically  demonstrating  what 
they  were  theoretically  being  taught,  to  care  for  the  erring 
and  lift  up  the  fallen. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AND  now,  with  an  M.D.  attached  to  my  name,  it  be- 
hooved me  to  consider  what  I  should  do  with  it.  Pro- 
fessor Eliot  advised  me  to  enter  the  examination  for  a 
hospital  interne.  In  a  way,  this  was  an  attractive  proposition. 
If  I  succeeded  it  would  give  me  eighteen  months  of  training, 
difficult  to  find  elsewhere,  as  well  as  board  and  room  during 
that  period.  But  the  great  war  was  raging.  None  of  my 
immediate  family  were  in  it,  and  I  decided  that  my  place  was 
in  the  field.  It  will  be  recollected  that  I  had  already  had  a 
few  months'  experience  as  an  enlisted  man,  and  I  confess  that 
I  was  vain  enough,  if  that  is  the  proper  word,  to  experience 
a  sensation  of  pleasure  at  again  entering  the  service  with  the 
insignia  of  rank  and  clothed  with  a  certain  authority,  as  well 
as  with  responsibilities  of  a  higher  order  than  those  of  the 
simple  enlisted  man.  Besides,  my  country  needed  even  my 
help,  and  as  I  had  at  least  the  ordinary  patriotic  feeling,  my 
choice  was  soon  made.  Never  have  I  regretted  it.  The  won- 
derful experiences  of  war,  the  warm  friendships  it  engenders, 
and  its  never-to-be-forgotten  memories,  have  repaid  me  many 
fold  for  all  its  hardships  and  dangers. 

My  father  had  written  to  tell  me  that  there  was  to  be  a 
special  examination  at  Columbus,  Ohio,  for  medical  service 
in  the  army,  and  a  few  days  found  me  at  home  in  Milan. 
Thence  I  went  to  Columbus,  where  I  again  met  my  friend 
Poe,  to  whom  I  have  already  alluded  and  who  was  there  on 
the  same  errand.  Physicians  from  different  parts  of  the  state 
to  the  number  of  sixty  had  assembled  in  the  Senate  chamber 
of  the  State  House  to  listen  to  the  opening  address  by  the 
surgeon  general.  He  alluded  to  the  fact  that  too  many 
incompetent  men  had  been  given  commissions  as  surgeons, 
through  laxity  of  examination.  This  defect  was  about  to  be 
remedied  and  the  test  now  before  us  would  be  worthy  of  the 
name.  Each  man  was  to  be  supplied  with  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
and  a  sheet  of  thirty  printed  questions,  and  under  watchful 
eyes  was  to  do  the  best  he  could.  On  the  following  day  we  were 
to  go  to  the  General  Hospital,  a  case  of  some  disease  or  other 

132 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  133 

was  to  be  given  to  each  of  us.  This  we  were  to  examine  and 
then  write  out  in  full, — our  diagnosis,  prognosis,  and  suggested 
treatment  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  On  the  third  day, 
two  by  two,  we  were  to  go  to  the  surgeon  general's  office  and 
submit  to  an  oral  examination  by  an  examining  committee  of 
three.  On  hearing  this  formidable  decree  I  confess  that  my 
heart  sank  within  me,  and  not  only  did  my  own  heart  quail, 
but  the  feeling,  I  imagine,  was  very  general.  Of  the  sixty  who 
listened,  one-third  of  the  number  refused  to  stand  the  exam- 
ination, and  returned  to  their  homes  and  practices.  They 
evidently  feared  the  disgrace  of  a  failure,  believing  that  it 
would  discredit  them  at  home  and  injure  their  professional 
future.  Of  the  forty  who  took  the  examination,  fifteen  failed, 
and  of  the  twenty-five  who  were  accepted,  three  were  recom- 
mended for  promotion  whenever  a  vacancy  should  occur. 
My  friend  Poe  was  one  of  them  and,  to  my  extreme  astonish- 
ment, I  was  another.  I  was  trembling  in  my  shoes  as  to 
whether  I  could  squeeze  through,  and  to  come  off  with  such 
flying  colors  was  a  surprise  indeed.  How  I  finally  received 
further  promotion  will  appear  later  on. 

I  went  home,  announcing  my  success,  and  in  a  few  days 
received  my  commission  as  Assistant  Surgeon  (with  the  rank 
of  first  lieutenant)  in  the  Sixth  Ohio  Volunteer  Cavalry,  then 
serving  with  the  Cavalry  Corps  attached  to  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac,  and  was  ordered  to  report  at  once  for  duty.  Stop- 
ping in  Cleveland  I  bought  a  uniform  and  a  suit  case,  which 
followed  me  in  all  my  wanderings  and  now  after  its  journey- 
ings,  old,  mildewed,  and  broken,  with  a  hole  in  one  corner 
evidently  made  by  some  rat,  it  quietly  reposes  in  our  attic  with 
some  other  little  relics  of  the  stirring  times  of  the  past. 

How  changed  was  the  aspect  of  our  whole  Northern  sec- 
tion, though  far  removed  from  the  actual  scene  of  war  and 
how  it  all  comes  back  to  me !  In  the  early  days  of  the  war 
acres  of  white  tents  were  seen  in  every  county  and  near  every 
large  town  throughout  the  country.  Bands  were  playing, 
flags  flying,  and  men  were  marching.  The  trains  were  filled 
with  poorly  trained  but  enthusiastic  recruits  hurrying  to  the 
front.  Even  at  this  time,  more  than  two  years  from  the  out- 
break of  hostilities,  there  was  still  much  confusion  in  the  man- 
agement  of   the   different   departments    of   the   government. 


i34  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

Democracies  are  proverbially  slow  in  their  grasp  of  essentials, 
compared  with  autocracies.  Their  ways  are  roundabout  and 
halting,  but  it  seems  to  be  the  price  we  pay  for  self-govern- 
ment. This  was  illustrated  in  my  own  unimportant  case. 
Instead  of  being  ordered  to  proceed  immediately  to  my  post 
of  duty  and  report  to  my  superior,  I  was  directed  to  report  at 
the  Surgeon  General's  office  at  Washington.  There  they  did 
not  seem  to  know  exactly  what  to  do  with  me,  but  finally  or- 
dered me  to  the  surgeon  in  chief  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 

I,  therefore,  had  to  hunt  up  Army  Headquarters,  and  when 
found,  after  devious  wanderings,  I  was  told  to  keep  right  on 
until  I  had  found  my  regiment.  After  careful  inquiry  I  found 
that  it  was  located  at  Warrenton  Springs,  Virginia,  a  part  of 
Sheridan's  famous  Cavalry  Corps.  Retracing  my  steps  to 
Brandy  Station  where  I  had  spent  the  previous  night,  I  was 
told  that  in  a  few  hours  an  apology  of  a  train  would  start  for 
Warrenton.  When  there  I  appreciated  the  fact  that  I  was  at 
last  at  the  "front" — a  term  on  every  tongue  through  four  long 
years,  and  one  that  was  so  vital  and  meant  so  much  to  almost 
every  family  in  the  land.  Very  soon  I  got  to  know  exactly 
what  it  meant  to  be  at  the  front. 

Colonel  Stedman,  the  commanding  officer,  received  me 
heartily  and  kindly,  and  made  me  feel  very  much  at  home. 
He  wanted  me  to  get  on  a  horse  and  accompany  him  in  a 
round  of  two  or  three  visits  he  had  to  make.  While  I  was 
waiting,  as  he  stood  chatting  with  some  officers  not  far  away, 
I  heard  one  of  them  ask  the  Colonel  if  that  was  the  new 
Assistant  Surgeon,  adding  that  he  looked  young  and  inexpe- 
rienced enough.  While  this  was  absolutely  true,  both  as 
regards  looks  and  experience,  yet  the  bantering  tone  made 
me  feel  very  uncomfortable.  I  did  not  hear  the  Colonel's 
reply.  That  night,  while  sitting  alone  in  my  tent  decidedly 
depressed  and  homesick,  in  came  the  Adjutant  of  the  regi- 
ment. His  name  was  Baldwin,  and  he  was  even  a  little 
younger  than  myself.  He  was  full  of  quick  intelligence  and 
with  an  overflowing  jollity  that  soon  dissipated  every  thought 
of  loneliness.  He  did  not  sit  in  a  chair,  but  on  the  side  of  an 
old  table;  and  there  I  see  him  to  this  day,  swinging  one  leg 
to  and  fro  while  he  indulged  in  talk  and  song  and  laughter. 
Never  had  I  met  a  companion  whose  humor  was  more  con- 


YOUTH  AND  EARLY  MANHOOD  135 

tagious.  I  met  him  halfway,  and  remember  how  he  enlivened 
me  and  made  me  feel  again  that  life  was  worth  living.  He 
swore  a  good  deal,  in  a  happy,  careless  way  as  was  so  com- 
mon in  army  life,  and  finally  I  said,  "Adjutant,  what  makes 
you  swear  so  much?"  He  replied,  "Oh,  Doctor,  when  you 
have  been  in  the  Army  three  months,  you  will  swear  as  much 
as  I  do.  Down  here  you  can't  help  it.  Why,  when  I  was  at 
home,  I  was  a  Sunday  School  teacher." 

We  became  warm  friends  and  until  his  death,  about  which 
I  shall  speak  later,  the  attachment  grew.  He  had  read  a 
good  deal  and  had  tastes  similar  to  my  own,  and  in  the  long 
night  marches  much  talk  did  we  have  about  books  and  things 
foreign  to  war. 


A.  D.  Rockwell,  M.  D. 

Surgeon  and  Major,  6th  Ohio  Cavalry,  U.  S.  V.,  iJ 


Book  III 
A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN 

CHAPTER  XXII 

MY  ride  with  Sheridan  was  not  a  solitary  ride.  It 
was  shared  with  some  ten  thousand  tried  and 
gallant  men,  who,  on  scores  of  bloody  fields,  had 
rendered  quite  inaccurate  Hooker's  famous  sar- 
casm, "Who  ever  saw  a  dead  cavalryman?" 
From  the  Rapidan  to  Richmond  and  Petersburgh,  and  thence 
to  Appomattox  they  marched  and  countermarched  with  skir- 
mishes here  and  battles  there  until  almost  every  portion  of 
that  fair  country  became  the  final  resting-place  of  the  Union 
dead. 

We  then  saw  in  our  commander  a  man  about  thirty-four 
years  of  age,  short  of  stature,  but  compactly  built,  with  broad 
square  shoulders  and  a  muscular  and  wiry  frame  that  sug- 
gested powers  of  endurance  far  beyond  the  average.  With 
his  firm  chin,  crisp  mustache,  and  keen  searching  eye,  he 
looked  every  inch  the  soldier.  In  more  senses  than  one  the 
head  of  General  Sheridan  was  not  a  common  head.  He 
found  it  difficult,  it  is  said,  to  make  a  hat  stay  on  properly. 
Certain  irregularities  called  by  phrenologists  bumps  of  com- 
bativeness  were  the  cause  of  this  singular  shape,  and  greatly 
inconvenienced  him  as  well  as  his  enemies.  To  prevent  his 
hat  from  escaping,  when  galloping  over  the  field  during  a 
fight,  he  often  held  it  in  his  hand,  an  act  which  suggested 
cheer  and  encouragement  to  the  men. 

The  spring  of  1864  found  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  with 
its  encampments  along  the  northern  line  of  the  Rapidan,  in 
momentary  expectation  of  the  order  to  prepare  for  another 
wrestle  with  its  ever-watchful,  desperate,  incomparable  antag- 
onist— the  army  of  Northern  Virginia.  Grant  had  recently 
assumed  command  of  all  the  Federal  armies,  his  headquarters 
with  the  Army  of  the  Potomac;  while  Sheridan,  with  the  halo 
of  his  brilliant  record  in  the  West  fresh  around  him,  took  in 
hand  for  the  first  time  as  his  sole  command  the  cavalry  corps 
attached  to  this  army.     As  much  as  any  other  commander, 

137 


i3 8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

Sheridan  shielded  his  troops  from  unnecessary  peril  and 
fatigue,  and  more  perhaps  than  others,  he  spared  them  not, 
either  by  night  or  day,  in  cold  or  heat,  in  storm  or  in  calm, 
when  the  enemy  was  to  be  met  or  a  position  gained. 

In  giving  a  short  sketch  of  some  of  the  operations  of  the 
cavalry  corps  attached  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  with  a 
few  personal  reminscences  of  the  bivouac,  march  and  battle, 
I  am  simply  following  an  irresistible  impulse  which  time  does 
but  intensify.  No  one  who  has  not  participated  in  the  strange 
and  stirring  scenes  of  actual  war  can  even  faintly  appreciate 
the  fascination  that  attaches  to  its  memories.  The  old  soldier 
will  tell  you  that  even  the  odor  of  burning  leaves  carries  him 
back  instantly  to  the  bivouac  and  camp  fire;  he  hears  again  the 
clatter  and  tumult  caused  by  the  quick,  sharp  strokes  of  the 
soldiers'  axes  as  they  drive  down  the  stakes  to  which  they  tie 
their  horses,  together  with  all  the  low  undercurrent  of  sound 
characteristic  of  a  great  multitude  preparing  for  food  and 
rest  after  the  toil  of  the  day.  The  crack  of  the  sportsman's 
rifle  recalls  the  picket  line,  and  the  simultaneous  discharge  of 
a  score  or  more  is  wonderfully  suggestive  of  the  ominous 
reports  along  the  skirmish  line.  More  than  all  else,  perhaps, 
the  roar  of  the  cannon,  according  to  its  nearness  and  the 
volume  of  its  sound,  suggests  the  threatening  or  fully  opened 
conflict,  and  brings  fresh  to  mind  the  mingled  and  the  peculiar 
sensations  experienced  by  the  participant. 

On  the  second  of  May,  1864,  came  the  looked-for  orders 
that  were  to  end  the  quiet  and  uneventful  monotony  of  camp 
life  and  set  in  motion  an  army  of  more  than  a  hundred  thou- 
sand men  with  "its  rolling  of  drums,  tramp  of  squadrons,  and 
immeasurable  tumult  of  baggage  wagons."  To  describe  ade- 
quately the  commingled  scenes  of  earnest  preparation,  vocif- 
erous salutations  and  commands,  ludicrous  incidents,  and 
picturesque  movements  associated  with  such  a  general  dis- 
ruption calls  for  an  abler  pen  than  mine.  Confusion  seem- 
ingly reigns  supreme,  but  soon  it  becomes  evident  that  this 
"mighty  maze  is  not  without  a  plan."  Scattered  formations 
begin,  and  companies  of  men,  like  rills  flowing  to  their  stream, 
assume  the  concrete  form  of  a  regiment,  regiments  coalesce 
into  brigades,  brigades  into  divisions,  until  finally  the  whole 
cavalry   corps   of   twelve   thousand   moves   grandly   away   to 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  139 

meet  the  enemy;  but  when,  or  where,  or  how,  it  knows  not. 

Shortly  after  midnight  on  the  fourth  of  May  the  crossing 
of  the  Rapidan  began,  the  cavalry  fording  the  river  and  pre- 
ceding the  infantry,  which  crossed  over  on  pontoon  bridges. 

It  is  now  more  than  fifty  years  since  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  crossed  the  Rapidan  River,  thus  inaugurating 
Grant's  memorable  campaign  of  the  summer  of  1864,  with 
its  incessant  fighting  and  horrible  slaughter.  What  memories 
follow  fast  in  the  memory  of  every  old  soldier  of  that  time ! 
How  like  a  dream  it  all  seems.  With  thousands  of  others  I 
find  myself  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  war's  alarms,  with  the 
authority  and  responsibilities  of  a  surgeon.  Inexperienced  in 
my  profession,  unused  to  hardships,  and  by  nature  timid  rather 
than  otherwise,  I  am  oppressed  by  the  fact  that  we  are  fairly 
caught  in  the  maelstrom  of  war,  and  that  I  am  one  of  a 
relentless  body  pressing  on  to  bloody  work.  How  it  all  comes 
back  to  me — the  picturesque  scenes  as  the  great  army  broke 
camp  and  our  cavalry  moved  out  in  long  line  for  an  unknown 
destination  and  destiny.  It  was  a  charming  day.  The  air 
was  exhilarating,  and  it  was  an  inspiration  to  watch  the  moving 
host  of  infantry,  cavalry  and  artillery  as,  like  mighty  streams, 
they  moved  grandly  along  unobstructed  and  unresisted.  If 
the  lightning  meets  with  no  resistance  it  is  harmless,  but  if 
resisted  it  rends  asunder;  and  so  these  moving  masses,  as  they 
proudly  press  forward,  need  only  resistance  to  transform 
them  into  frightful  instruments  of  destruction. 

Many  with  whom  I  rode  that  day  were  all  too  soon  destined 
to  go  down  to  death.  That  night,  a  weary  host,  we  stretched 
ourselves  upon  the  ground  to  rest,  but  at  midnight  we  were 
awakened  by  orders  to  move  at  once.  "Three  o'clock  in  the 
morning  courage"  was  a  phrase  quite  familiar  to  me,  and  it 
came  to  my  mind  at  that  time. 

The  air  was  chilly  and  damp;  the  blood  was  circulating  at 
lowest  ebb  in  our  veins,  and  I  recall  the  feeling  of  inertness 
and  inefficiency  that  well-nigh  overwhelmed  me  as  I  imagined 
all  sorts  of  unknown  terrors  ahead.  But  no  riot  of  the  imag- 
ination went  beyond  the  scenes  soon  to  be  enacted.  In  perfect 
silence  we  made  our  way  toward  the  historic  Rapidan  River, 
the  "Rubicon"  of  that  day.  Beyond  that  river  was  forbidden 
ground.      "Thus  far  shalt  thou  go   and  no   further!"     And 


1 4o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

the  ability  to  enforce  that  command  has  been  illustrated  on 
fields  as  sanguinary  and  as  gallantly  fought  on  both  sides  as 
the  world  has  ever  seen. 

McClellan  has  been  driven  back  with  carnage  unspeakable. 
Burnside  at  Fredericksburg  in  impotent  rage  dashed  his  de- 
voted troops  against  impenetrable  barriers,  while  later 
Hooker  was  routed,  and  the  long-suffering  army  of  the  Poto- 
mac literally  hurled  back  across  the  river.  And  as  on  that 
gloomy  night  of  May  fourth,  1864,  we  halted  on  the  brink  of 
the  quiet  stream,  many  must  have  thought  of  these  things  and 
wondered  as  to  the  future.  What  would  the  resistance  be? 
With  strained  and  expectant  senses  we  plunged  into  the  cold 
waters  of  the  Rapidan,  and  as  our  horses  went  deeper,  we 
wondered  that  no  sound  of  gun  was  heard  above  the  splash 
of  the  water  and  the  low-spoken  word  of  command.  As  we 
leached  the  other  side,  day  was  breaking.  No  enemies  were  in 
sight,  and  the  only  evidences  of  their  existence  were  the  foot- 
prints of  horses  and  torn  bags  of  grain  or  meal  left  in  their 
hasty  flight.  We  press  forward  and  halt  for  a  little  while  on 
the  famous  battlefield  of  Chancellorsville,  and  I  see  now,  as 
I  saw  then,  a  solitary  chimney  towering  high  above  the  trees 
— all  that  was  left  of  the  headquarters  of  Hooker  during  the 
battle  of  the  year  before.  Ghastly  evidences  of  that  fierce 
fight — some  of  it  in  deep  darkness — were  seen  in  the  bones 
of  the  unburied  dead,  and  impelled  by  a  curious  impulse  I 
picked  up  one  of  these  fragments  of  our  poor  humanity  and 
held  it  for  a  moment.  Just  as  on  the  street,  we  meet  a  passing 
stranger  and  wonder  what  his  name  is, — what  of  his  his- 
tory,— what  his  past  or  his  future,  so  I  wondered  of  what 
personality  this  dry  bone  had  been  a  part.  Less  than  a  year 
ago,  this  person,  probably  little  more  than  a  boy,  was  part  of 
the  pulsating,  vibrating  machinery  of  war.  If  he  belonged  to 
a  New  England  or  a  Western  regiment,  perhaps  he  came 
from  some  peaceful  farm,  and  his  thoughts  may  have  reverted 
at  the  beginning  of  that  fateful  day  to  his  father's  farm,  to 
the  quiet  safety  of  its  fields,  and  to  the  beautiful  and  restful 
serenity  of  the  parental  roof.  Even  yet  in  youthful  sim- 
plicity he  may  not  have  ceased  to  regard  that  father  in  his 
relation  to  him  as  a  "prophet,  priest  and  King,"  and  his 
mother  above  all  others.     What  a  little  time  had  separated 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  141 

him  from  the  dewy  fragrance  of  childhood  to  the  rough  expe- 
rience of  war.  Scarcely  had  he  awakened  out  of  eternity 
before  he  entered  again  upon  eternity.  Time  had  indeed 
been  to  him  a  fast,  hurrying  stream.  Whether  such  thoughts 
are  true  of  him  one  knows  not,  neither  does  it  matter;  but  that 
they  are  true  in  essentials  of  thousands  who  fell  in  the  great 
struggle  is  without  question. 

Patriotism !  Yes,  it  is  right,  and  a  great  and  glorious  pos- 
session, but  what  save  honor  can  compensate  for  the  loss  of 
all  that  is  beautiful  and  tender  and  reminiscent  in  one's  life; 
for  the  lives  that  are  snuffed  out,  broken  off  almost  at  their 
very  beginning?  Ah!  the  boys,  and  for  the  most  part  only 
boys,  that  became  the  victim  of  the  hell  of  war. 

And  so,  here  we  are  again,  the  entire  army  of  the  Potomac, 
in  the  enemy's  country,  with  the  river  behind  us.  Will  it  re- 
suit  again  in  fearful  loss  of  life  and  then  retreat?  In  loss 
of  life  beyond  all  compute?  Yes!  but  never  more  retreat. 
And  the  morrow  will  witness  not  only  a  fearful  death-roll,  but 
a  horrible  holocaust  both  of  the  living  and  the  dead. 

Through  all  the  live-long  day  of  that  terrible  struggle  in 
the  Wilderness,  I  heard  the  long-drawn-out  volleys,  before 
which  fell  hundreds  and  thousands  of  youth  on  both  sides,  and 
that  nothing  might  be  lacking  on  that  day  of  horror,  the  dry 
leaves  and  tangled  underbrush  caught  fire,  and  poor,  wounded, 
helpless  humanity  was  not  allowed  even  a  fighting  chance  or 
the  privilege  of  dying  a  soldier's  death,  but  must  suffer  the 
indignity  and  pangs  of  fire. 

The  phrase  "War  is  hell"  comes,  as  a  rule,  trippingly  from 
the  tongue.  But  when  Sherman  said  it,  it  came  as  it  comes 
now  when  spoken  by  the  veteran  of  to-day,  deep  down  and 
straight  from  the  heart. 

Rev.  Henry  Van  Dyke  recognized  the  spirit  that  ani- 
mated General  Sherman  and  set  it  forth  in  the  lines  written 
on  the  occasion  of  the  dedication  of  St.  Gaudens'  equestrian 
statue  of  the  General  at  the  entrance  to  Central  Park: 

"This  is  the  soldier,  brave  enough  to  tell 
The  glory-dazzled  world,  that  war  is  hell ; 
Lover  of  peace,  he  looks  beyond  the  strife 
And  rides  through  hell — to  save  his  country's  life." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  cavalry  took  but  little  part  in  this  first  great  battle 
of  the  campaign, — the  Battle  of  the  Wilderness.  It 
was  on  the  outskirts,  supporting  batteries,  guarding  sup- 
plies, protecting  flanks,  etc.,  but  on  the  eighth  of  May,  General 
Sheridan  received  instructions  to  concentrate  his  scattered 
forces,  pass  around  the  right  of  Lee's  army  to  its  rear,  and 
after  doing  all  the  damage  possible  by  destroying  railroads, 
burning  supplies,  etc.,  proceed  to  Haxall's  Landing  on  the 
James,  replenish  supplies  from  General  Butler's  stores,  rest 
his  command,  and  then  return  to  the  main  army,  wherever  it 
might  be.  This  memorable  and  historic  raid  consumed  just 
fifteen  days,  in  which  time  were  concentrated  as  much  move- 
ment and  fighting  as  in  any  other  period  of  similar  length 
during  the  war.  Indeed,  any  soldier  who  saw  nothing  more 
of  war  than  that  raid,  might  be  entitled  truly  to  the  appellation 
of  "Veteran." 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth  of  May,  1864,  we 
were  in  motion,  the  object  being  to  get  away  from  Lee's  in- 
fantry before  meeting  Stuart's  cavalry.  It  was  early  spring, 
and  a  cloudless  sky,  a  clear,  invigorating  atmosphere,  con- 
tributed to  make  the  day  nearly  perfect.  The  roads  were  in 
excellent  condition,  free  from  mud  or  dust,  and  we  were  pass- 
ing through  a  beautiful  country  untouched  by  the  ravages  of 
war.  I  can  never  forget  the  song  of  the  birds,  the  rustle  of 
the  leaves  upon  the  trees,  and  the  cattle  peacefully  grazing 
in  the  fields.  They  would  look  up  and  gaze  curiously  but 
unafraid  at  the  unusual  spectacle  of  marching  troops  and  the 
rumble  of  artillery  and  baggage  wagons.  There  were  fields 
of  waving  grass  and  comfortable  little  homes  that  had  never 
before  seen  an  invading  force.  Few  whites  were  seen,  but 
the  negroes  from  every  hamlet  and  hut  gathered  along  the 
roadside  in  undisguised  admiration  and  wonder  at  the  cease- 
less stream  of  artillery  and  horse.  "Pompey,  have  you  seen 
many  soldiers  go  along  this  way  to-day?"  was  asked  face- 
tiously of  a  gray-haired  old  negro,  and  as  the  old  fellow  lifted 
up    both    hands    and    excitedly    ejaculated,     "Yes,     Massa, 

142 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  143 

t'ousands  and  thousands,  you  go  right  into  Richmond  now, 
suh," — it  was  made  sufficiently  evident  by  the  old  man's  un- 
feigned action  and  tone  that  he  at  least  was  heart  and  soul 
with  the  Union  cause. 

Our  regiment  was  the  extreme  rear  of  the  line,  and  the 
beauty  and  quiet  of  the  day  was  still  with  us  when,  as  we  made 
a  turn  through  a  short  stretch  of  wood,  all  were  startled  by 
the  well-known  rebel  yell,  accompanied  by  rapid  firing.  The 
Colonel,  turning  in  his  saddle,  saw  the  rear  of  the  regiment 
scattering  in  every  direction,  closely  pressed  by  the  attacking 
party.  In  an  instant  everything  was  in  the  utmost  confusion. 
The  artillery,  pack  train,  forage  wagons  and  forming  bodies 
of  troops  seemed  to  be  inextricably  mixed,  and  I  found  my- 
self in  a  sort  of  pandemonium  separated  from  every  familiar 
face,  uncertain  which  way  to  turn,  either  to  avoid  the  increas- 
ing fire,  or  to  find  a  post  of  duty.  Just  then  a  captain  of  the 
staff  galloped  by  and  with  a  shout,  "You  are  wanted  this  way, 
doctor,"  he  swept  by  and  I  followed  on.  In  a  moment  a 
position  was  reached  that  enabled  me  to  witness  the  rare  sight 
of  cavalry  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  sabre  and  pistol.  This 
was  my  baptism  of  fire,  and  a  fierce  and  fiery  one  it  was.  The 
excitement  was  too  great  to  allow  the  details  to  be  firmly  fixed 
in  mind.  A  swaying,  yelling  mass  of  horsemen,  and  the  roar 
of  a  section  of  artillery  in  the  rear,  were  the  main  impressions. 
One  distinct  act  I  now  vividly  recall.  The  adjutant  of  the 
regiment  (Baldwin)  to  whom  I  have  already  referred,  and 
whose  sad  death  occurred  a  short  time  after,  had  just  received 
the  ineffectual  fire  of  a  Southern  soldier.  I  see  the  adjutant 
now,  as  I  have  in  imagination  seen  him  hundreds  of  times 
before,  with  that  expression  of  concentrated  excitement  char- 
acteristic of  such  scenes  of  peril.  With  horses  careering  side 
by  side,  he  had  grasped  the  Confederate  by  the  collar  of  his 
coat  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  was  in  the  act  of  strik- 
ing him  from  the  saddle  with  the  butt  of  his  pistol.  One  poor 
fellow  was  lying  upon  the  turf  bleeding  and  pale,  and  dis- 
mounting I  gave  the  reins  of  my  horse  to  an  attendant  who 
had  just  joined  me.  It  was  anything  but  a  pleasant  time  or 
place  for  the  gentle  ministration  of  the  healing  art.  Bullets 
were  whistling  through  the  air  on  every  side,  and  it  needed 
only  the  ear  to  assure  us  that  the  enemy  were  in  close  prox- 


i44  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

imity.  The  wounded  man  was  too  weak  to  lift  his  head  from 
the  ground,  and  as  I  was  intently  engaged  in  examining  the 
arm  through  which  a  bullet  had  passed,  the  startling  cry  of 
"Here  they  come!"  was  heard.  We  were  on  the  edge  of  a 
plowed  field,  and,  on  looking  up,  a  body  of  Confederate 
cavalry  was  seen  not  over  a  hundred  yards  away,  coming 
towards  us  as  rapidly  as  the  nature  of  the  ground  would  per- 
mit, firing  their  carbines,  and  with  all  manner  of  exclamations. 
Not  one  of  us  stood  upon  the  order  of  his  going.  The  orderly 
gallantly  led  the  flight,  followed  by  the  surgeon,  who  was  in 
turn  closely  followed  by  the  wounded  man.  He,  poor  fellow, 
had  not  feigned  anything  as  he  lay  there  apparently  unable  to 
rise.  It  was  only  the  stimulus  of  imminent  danger  that  en- 
abled him  to  leap  unassisted  to  his  feet  and  into  his  saddle. 
My  own  horse,  left  to  himself,  started,  and  there  was  only 
time  to  grasp  him  by  the  neck  and  throw  one  leg  over  the 
saddle,  where  for  a  moment  I  helplessly  hung.  The  efforts 
of  the  now  thoroughly  terrified  horse,  as  he  plunged  through 
the  soft  earth,  were  frantic  enough,  but  not  more  so  than  my 
own  as  I  strained  every  nerve  to  right  myself.  Success  finally 
crowned  these  efforts,  and  our  speed  was  soon  rewarded  by 
the  welcome  sight  of  a  line  of  our  own  forces.  These  were 
flanked,  and  as  we  came  to  a  halt,  the  wounded  soldier  was 
close  at  our  heels.  In  a  sudden  attack  such  as  this,  there 
could  be  no  very  satisfactory  or  permanent  alignment.  The 
scene  of  contest  constantly  shifted;  hence,  no  sooner  had  we 
alighted  and  stretched  the  almost  fainting  wounded  man  upon 
the  ground  than  we  had  the  unusual  experience  of  being  ex- 
posed again  within  five  minutes  to  the  enemy's  charge  and 
were  compelled  to  fly  once  more.  This  time  we  did  not  halt 
until  it  was  certain  that  we  had  safely  outdistanced  that  per- 
sistent body  of  rebels.  It  had  often  been  said  that  surgeons 
are  not  exposed  to  much  danger.  This  I  began  to  doubt,  and 
on  many  subsequent  occasions  this  doubt  received  strong  con- 
firmation. 

Finally  the  attacking  force  was  compelled  to  retire,  and  in 
thick  darkness,  for  night  had  fallen,  the  task  of  reforming  the 
scattered  troops  began.  This  accomplished,  away  we  went 
in  one  of  the  fastest  cavalry  rides  ever  experienced,  to  join 
the  advanced  forces  on  the  banks  of  the  North  Anna  River. 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  145 

Among  our  severely  wounded  was  one  man  whom  I  at- 
tended, shot  through  the  lung.  It  was  a  fearful  wound,  and 
as  there  seemed  little  hope  of  his  surviving,  and  as  we  could 
not  take  him  with  us,  we  left  him  under  care  at  a  little  house 
by  the  roadside.  He  recovered  and  subsequently  rejoined  the 
regiment  a  well  man.  Such  recoveries  we  now  know  to  be  not 
unusual. 

The  following  morning,  our  division  (Gregg's)  and  that 
of  Wilson,  crossed  the  river,  exposed  to  the  artillery  fire  of 
our  untiring  adversary  who  had  followed  us,  had  placed  his 
guns  in  position,  and  had  waited  for  the  morning.  Custer 
with  his  brigade  was  sent  to  Beaver  Dam  Station,  where  he 
destroyed  ten  miles  of  the  Virginia  Central  Railroad,  with 
locomotives,  cars,  and  army  supplies,  recapturing  also  many 
prisoners  who  had  been  taken  in  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness 
and  were  then  on  their  way  to  Richmond.  I  will  not  attempt 
to  give  in  detail  the  various  side  movements  and  encounters 
of  our  cavalry  from  this  time  until  it  reached  the  bank  of  the 
James,  where  it  rested  for  three  days  under  the  guns  of  the 
fleet.  One  incident  may  be  recalled,  however,  of  a  night's 
ride  to  Ashland  Station  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  the 
road  and  a  depot  of  supplies  stored  there.  It  was  dark  when 
our  brigade  (Davies')  started,  but  as  the  column  wheeled  into 
an  unfrequented  forest  road,  the  darkness  became  almost 
impenetrable.  Our  progress  was  not  especially  disagreeable, 
so  long  as  our  horses  were  allowed  to  walk;  but  the  necessity 
of  reaching  our  destination  in  quick  time  soon  urged  the  whole 
force  into  a  rapid  gallop.  As  we  descended  into  gullies, 
mounted  hillocks,  and  leaped  obstructions  in  the  darkness,  our 
animals  were  necessarily  left  to  their  own  guidance.  Only  by 
sound  and  shout  could  we  tell  when  horses  stumbled  and  fell, 
pitching  their  riders.  My  little  mare,  however,  kept  her  feet 
bravely,  and  not  only  then  but  many  times  afterwards  carried 
me  securely  through  danger.  Hats  were  brushed  away  by 
the  branches  of  the  trees,  faces  scratched  and  bodies  bruised, 
but  on  we  raced  for  several  miles  until  the  woods  were 
cleared.  Never  were  men  more  glad  to  see  a  star  than  were 
we.  In  the  early  morning  we  reached  the  station,  drove  away 
a  small  force,  and  successfully  accomplished  the  object  for 
which  we  had  been  sent.     By  this  time  "Jeb"  Stuart,  the  bril- 


146  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

liant  Confederate  cavalry  leader,  by  moving  on  roads  parallel 
to  ours,  had  outstripped  us  and  planted  himself  in  our  path  at 
Yellow  Tavern,  seven  miles  from  Richmond. 

The  battle  here  was  very  severe  and  the  casualties  many. 
On  the  side  of  the  enemy,  General  Gordon  was  killed,  and  the 
gallant  and  renowned  Stuart  mortally  wounded.  Following 
up  his  successes,  Sheridan  penetrated  to  the  outer  defenses  of 
Richmond,  causing  the  greatest  excitement  and  consternation 
there.  We  could  plainly  hear  the  ringing  of  the  church  bells 
and  the  puffing  of  the  locomotives,  and  from  subsequent  in- 
formation it  would  seem  that  the  city  could  have  been  easily 
captured  because  of  the  small  force  left  for  its  defense. 

On  the  morning  of  the  twelfth  it  was  proposed  to  recross 
the  Chickahominy,  but  the  bridge  was  found  destroyed,  and 
had  to  be  rebuilt  under  a  heavy  fire  from  a  force  of  the  enemy 
on  the  opposite  side,  while  at  the  same  time  we  were  harassed 
by  attacking  troops  from  the  direction  of  Richmond.  For  a 
few  hours  it  was  a  season  of  anxiety  to  General  Sheridan 
lest  he  should  be  attacked  by  an  increasing  force  before  the 
completed  bridge  afforded  him  an  opportunity  to  go  on  his 
way.  The  story  was  current  among  us  that  when  the  bridge 
was  finished  and  our  troops  were  about  to  cross,  the  General 
seized  a  bottle,  and  as  he  was  about  to  lift  it  to  his  mouth 
with  a  "Here's  to  you  Johnnies,"  a  stray  bullet  effectually 
shattered  it.  Nothing  daunted,  it  is  further  related  that  the 
General,  turning  in  the  direction  from  which  the  missile  came, 
quickly  substituted  for  his  salutation,  the  exclamation  and  re- 
proach, "That's  d d  unhandsome  of  you,  Johnny." 

We  reached  Haxall's  Landing  on  the  banks  of  the  James 
on  the  fourteenth,  but  not  without  sharp  fighting  with  some 
of  the  enemy's  infantry  and  dismounted  cavalry  who  had 
advanced  from  their  work  to  intercept  us.  Here  we  had  an 
opportunity  for  much  needed  sleep,  and  we  were  very  grate- 
ful. Since  leaving  the  Wilderness,  our  marching  and  fight- 
ing had  been  almost  continuous,  and  both  rider  and  horse,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  patient  mule,  were  utterly  exhausted.  It  is 
a  notable  fact  that  during  the  movement  of  an  army  one  sel- 
dom sees  a  wild  animal  or  venomous  reptile,  even  though 
wild  the  region  and  thick  the  forest.  On  this  occasion,  how- 
ever, soon  after  reaching  camp,  while  quietly  slumbering  un- 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  147 

der  my  low  and  narrow  shelter  tent,  I  was  aroused  by  a  loud 
cry  from  some  one,  and  looking  round  was  startled  by  the 
sight  of  a  very  large  flat-headed  snake,  which  had  entered 
the  tent  and  raised  up  his  head  in  close  proximity  to  mine.  I 
cleared  the  entrance  instantly,  fortunately  without  touching 
the  snake,  and  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  killing  the  intruder. 
He  measured  four  feet  and  some  inches  and  was  pronounced 
a  very  poisonous  fellow. 

On  the  seventeenth  of  May,  quite  refreshed  and  well  sup- 
plied with  rations,  the  cavalry  retraced  its  steps  to  rejoin  the 
main  army,  which,  with  little  opposition,  it  accomplished  on 
the  twenty-fourth.  The  army  of  the  Potomac  at  this  time 
found  itself  in  a  peculiar  position.  It  had  crossed  to  the 
south  bank  of  the  South  Anna  River  in  two  different  sections, 
and  then  confronted  Lee's  intrenched  forces.  The  peculiarity 
of  the  situation  was  that  our  army  not  only  had  the  river  in 
its  rear,  but  an  intrenched  division  of  the  enemy,  like  a  wedge, 
extended  to  the  river,  widely  separating  the  two  sections  of 
the  Union  Army.  It  is  readily  seen,  therefore,  that  for  one 
part  to  support  the  other  it  would  be  necessary  to  cross  the 
river  twice.  The  position  was  thoroughly  unsatisfactory  and 
not  devoid  of  peril,  and  on  the  night  of  the  twenty-fifth,  in 
the  most  intense  darkness,  the  withdrawal  was  successfully 
accomplished. 

Crossing  the  Pamunkey  River  on  the  twenty-seventh,  we 
halted,  and  soon  a  thousand  camp  fires  were  brightly  gleam- 
ing in  the  valleys  and  along  the  hillsides.  One  of  the  most 
important  duties  of  the  soldier,  however,  was  to  see  that  his 
horse  was  secure,  and  to  this  end  every  man  was  eager  to 
obtain  as  quickly  as  possible  a  portion  of  a  rail  or  some  small 
limb  of  a  tree,  and  utilize  it  as  a  stake.  Imagine  ten  thousand 
men,  more  or  less,  driving  down  these  stakes  simultaneously. 
In  the  clear  night  air,  the  sound  reaches  one  from  near  and 
far,  now  echoing  and  re-echoing  in  a  single  crushing  volume, 
and  again  with  a  rapid  and  irregular  clatter  quite  indescrib- 
able. In  the  midst  of  all  this  confusion  and  fancied  security 
there  was  the  startling  report  of  a  bursting  shell  among  us.  In 
an  instant  every  sound  was  hushed.  The  cessation  of  active 
life  was  as  real  and  the  silence  as  profound  as  when  all  the 
inmates  in  the  palace  of  the  King  went  to  sleep  for  a  thousand 


i48  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

years.  The  awakening  also  was  almost  as  sudden.  For  a 
moment  there  was  strained  expectation,  with  a  thousand  arms 
held  high  in  air,  then  a  single  blow,  then  another,  and  imme- 
diately the  air  was  again  resounding  with  sturdy  strokes. 
It  seems  that  the  fire  at  our  brigade  headquarters  had  been 
kindled  over  an  unnoticed  and  unexploded  shell,  thrown  in 
some  previous  cavalry  skirmish,  and  in  its  explosion  one  of 
our  own  officers,  detailed  temporarily  for  staff  duty,  was 
severely  wounded.  I  venture  to  say  that  seldom  in  the  whole 
history  of  the  war  did  the  explosion  of  a  single  shell  excite 
more  attention  and  comment. 

The  following  day  witnessed  one  of  the  severest  and 
longest  cavalry  engagements  of  the  campaign.  General  Sheri- 
dan, in  pursuance  of  orders  of  "feel  the  enemy,"  pushed  for- 
ward our  division  (Gregg's)  on  the  road  from  Hanovertown 
to  Richmond.  Near  a  place  called  Hawes'  Shop  a  large  force 
of  rebel  cavalry  (Fitzhugh  Lee's  and  Hampton's  divisions) 
were  found  dismounted  and  occupying  temporary  breastworks 
of  rail.  My  post  of  duty  in  the  beginning  of  the  contest  was 
with  the  regiment  at  the  front,  as  usual,  and  when  finally  di- 
rected to  the  field  hospital  in  the  rear,  to  assist  there,  I  found 
an  old  house  filled  and  the  yard  strewn  with  wounded  men 
who  had  either  been  operated  upon  or  who  were  patiently 
waiting  their  turn  to  be  placed  upon  the  repulsive-looking 
tables.  Here  for  the  first,  but  not  for  the  last,  time  I  regret 
to  say,  it  was  my  unpleasant  experience  to  see  a  hospital  with 
its  protective  flag  flying  above,  and  filled  with  the  wounded 
and  dying,  exposed  to  the  fire  of  artillery.  Fortunately  the 
cannonading  was  of  brief  continuance,  but  long  enough  to 
inflict  some  damage;  how  much  I  am  not  aware,  as  my  horse, 
which  I  had  remounted  a  few  minutes  previously  to  return  to 
the  firing  line,  became  so  unmanageable  at  the  sound  of  a 
bursting  shell  that  he  bore  me  quickly  away.  The  direction 
taken  by  the  affrighted  animal  acquits  me  of  intentionally  run- 
ning away,  for  I  was  carried  towards  a  still  hotter  fire,  and  it 
was  fully  a  mile  before  the  animal  could  be  subdued. 

Can  I  ever  forget  that  shell?  I  heard  it  coming  from  be- 
hind, shrieking  like  a  thousand  devils.  I  remember  thinking 
that  I  was  done  for.  Another  surgeon  was  riding  by  my 
side,   our  knees  nearly   touching,   yet  the   shell   fell   between 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  149 

our  two  horses,  exploding  as  it  touched  the  ground.  The 
horse  of  my  fellow  surgeon  was  literally  disemboweled,  while 
my  own  horse  was  untouched,  but  the  shock  was  terrible.  The 
surgeon  himself  was  unhurt.  Years  after  one  old  soldier 
who  was  there  told  me  that  he  could  never  forget  the  sight 
of  the  wounded  horse,  rearing  high  in  air,  with  the  blood 
pouring  in  streams  from  the  severed  arteries. 

It  was  here,  during  a  lull  in  the  fighting,  that  our  plain- 
spoken  Colonel  sent  back  a  reply  to  the  commanding  general, 
which  I  understood  he  never  forgot. 

Staff  Officer — "General  Sheridan  wishes  to  know,  Colonel, 
how  you  are  getting  along." 

Colonel — "You  tell  the  general  that  we  are  licking  the  bile 
out  of  them." 

This  reply  was  literally  transmitted  by  the  faithful  aid.  A 
few  years  after  the  war,  the  members  of  the  legislature  of 
Ohio,  of  which  body  the  Colonel  was  one,  were  introduced  to 
the  General,  and  upon  the  former  being  presented,  Sheridan 
quickly  remembered  him  and  good-humoredly  brought  him  to 
task  for  the  language  in  which  his  official  information  had 
been  couched. 

For  the  next  few  days  the  cavalry  were  incessantly  active. 
The  disastrous  assault  of  Cold  Harbor  occurred,  and  in  this 
they  took  part,  losing  heavily  in  killed  and  wounded;  and 
almost  immediately  after  were  ordered  to  proceed  along  the 
Central  Railroad  of  Virginia,  damage  it  as  much  as  possible, 
and  then  join  the  command  of  General  Hunter  in  the  lower 
Valley.  After  this  we  were  again  to  return  to  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac,  wherever  it  was.  Only  a  part  of  this  duty  were 
we  able  successfully  to  perform.  Our  route  lay  along  the 
north  bank  of  the  North  Anna,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
tenth  of  June  we  crossed  the  river  at  Carpenter's  Ford  and 
encamped  near  the  line  of  the  Virginia  Central  Railway,  not 
far  from  Trevilian  Station.  We  now  found  ourselves  op- 
posed by  a  large  force  of  cavalry  under  Hampton  and  Lee, 
who  had  followed  closely  on  interior  lines  to  intercept  us.  On 
the  morning  of  the  eleventh  the  opposing  forces  met,  and 
throughout  all  that  day  the  fighting  was  desperate  and  the 
losses  large.  The  advantage  was  on  our  side,  but  learning 
from  prisoners  that  General  Hunter  was  not  in  a  position  to 


150  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

be  readily  reached,  and  that  we  were  likely  to  be  opposed  by 
both  Ewell  and  Breckinridge,  General  Sheridan  decided  to 
withdraw  under  the  cover  of  darkness.  Another  reason  for 
our  withdrawal,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  was  the  want  of  am- 
munition. 

It  was  just  twilight  when  my  regiment  was  sent  out  to  do 
picket  duty  and  cover  the  withdrawal  of  the  rest  of  the  troops. 
The  dust  raised  must  have  been  seen  by  our  watchful  foe,  for 
a  storm  of  shell  was  opened  upon  us,  which  for  a  few  moments 
was  as  fearful  as  anything  we  had  experienced.  Shells  ex- 
ploded around  and  above  us,  and  the  brilliant  illumination  in 
the  twilight  added  to  the  impressiveness  of  the  scene.  The 
firing  was  quickly  over,  but  while  it  lasted  it  seemed  as  if  the 
regiment  would  be  annihilated.  Many  of  us  were  struck  in 
face  and  body  by  bits  of  flying  bark  and  branches  from  the 
trees,  for  we  were  passing  through  a  tract  of  woods,  and  I  saw 
a  small  tree  completely  severed.  The  fact  that  not  a  man  was 
injured  illustrates  how  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  damage 
inflicted  may  be  the  noise  and  demoralizing  effect  of  an  artil- 
lery fire. 

After  midnight  the  withdrawal  was  skilfully  accomplished 
and  with  entire  secrecy,  and  a  retrograde  march  commenced, 
which  in  some  respects  was  more  painful  than  anything  we 
had  before  or  would  hereafter  experience.  We  had  captured 
some  five  hundred  prisoners,  and  were  encumbered  with  about 
six  hundred  wounded  men;  of  these  ninety  were  too  severely 
injured  to  be  moved,  and,  together  with  the  enemy's  wounded 
that  had  fallen  into  our  hands,  were  left  behind  in  charge  of 
surgeons  detailed  for  that  purpose.  We  were  far  from  our 
base  of  supplies,  and  six  hundred  helpless  men  suffering  from 
injuries  of  almost  every  conceivable  character  had  to  be  trans- 
ported for  days  over  rough  roads  in  ambulances  and  in  army 
wagons  without  springs,  and  in  the  heat  and  thick  dust  of 
summer. 

Look  not  for  the  extremest  horrors  of  war  upon  the  battle- 
field, however  awful  the  carnage  or  cruel  the  adversary,  but 
find  it  rather  in  some  of  the  experiences  of  prison  life,  or  the 
unutterable  and  prolonged  agonies  of  a  retrograde  march, 
such  as  ours  of  eight  days'  duration.  From  sunrise  to  sunset 
the   long  cavalcade   of   canvas-covered  vehicles   toiled   along 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  151 

with  jar  and  jolt,  enveloped  in  clouds  of  dust  and  eliciting 
from  the  wretched  sufferers  a  continuous  succession  of  groans 
and  heart-rending  outcries.  Soldiers  in  general  know  little  of 
such  scenes  as  these,  familiar  only  to  the  surgeons  and  the  at- 
tendants. The  excitement  and  dangers  of  the  battle  over, 
the  resultant  suffering  is  quickly  removed  and  left  to  proper 
care.  Our  brave  and  humane  old  Colonel  had  occasion  to 
ride  forward  along  the  line  of  the  moving  ambulances.  He 
returned  actually  pale  with  suppressed  excitement,  and  ex- 
claimed, "My  God!  No  consideration  would  tempt  me  to 
go  over  that  course  again  and  see  the  sights  and  hear  the 
groans  that  I  have  this  day  seen  and  heard." 

And  here,  without  my  invidious  distinction,  attention  may 
be  called  to  the  work  of  the  medical  staff  of  the  army,  who 
labored  without  hope  of  special  preferment  or  possibility  of 
distinction.  They  shared  the  fatigue,  and  much  of  the  danger 
of  the  campaign,  and  in  emergencies  their  labors  were  almost 
to  the  limit  of  human  endurance.  On  this  very  march,  for 
example,  after  a  hard  day's  ride,  when  all  others  were  sleep- 
ing, the  surgeons  collected  about  the  ambulances  and  by  the 
dim  light  of  candles  dressed  each  wound  with  gentle  care. 
Oh,  the  memory  of  the  horrid  odors  that  came  from  decaying 
and  gangrenous  wounds,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  in 
those  days  there  was  no  blessed  antiseptic  known,  and  men 
died  like  sheep  for  want  of  some  staying  process.  Every 
effort  was  made  to  save  the  lives  of  those  who  were  not  too 
far  gone.  The  dying  were  passed  by  except  to  minister  to 
their  immediate  wants,  and  the  dead  were  quickly  buried. 

As  I  recall  at  this  distance  of  time,  those  nights  of  toil, 
with  wagons  against  the  dark  background,  crowded  with 
wounded,  and  surgeons  here  and  there,  bending  low  over  the 
sufferers  and  by  the  dim  light  of  candles  engaged  in  their 
humane  ministrations,  the  scene  loses  none  of  its  weird  and 
solemn  impressiveness. 

We  passed  over  the  recent  battlefield  of  Spottsylvania, 
where  the  destructive  effects  of  shot  and  shell  were  plainly 
visible.  Broken  branches  of  trees  were  on  every  hand.  Many 
trees  were  almost  completely  denuded  of  bark  and  foliage, 
some  were  riddled  with  bullets,  and  others  were  felled  to  the 
ground  by  the  shots.     Brigadier  General  Grant  of  the  Ver- 


i52  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

mont  brigade  thus  graphically  describes  the  close  and  deadly 
fighting  at  the  celebrated  "Angle" :  "It  was  not  only  a  des- 
perate struggle,  but  it  was  literally  a  hand-to-hand  fight. 
Nothing  but  the  piled-up  logs  or  breastworks  separated  the 
combatants.  Our  men  would  reach  over  the  logs,  and  fire 
into  the  faces  of  the  enemy,  would  stab  over  with  their 
bayonets,  and  many  were  shot  and  stabbed  through  the  crev- 
ices and  holes  between  the  logs.  Men  mounted  the  works, 
and,  with  muskets  rapidly  handed  them,  kept  up  a  continuous 
fire  until  they  were  shot  down,  when  others  would  take  their 
places  and  continue  the  deadly  work.  Several  times  during 
the  day  the  enemy  would  show  the  white  flag  about  the  works, 
and  when  our  fire  slackened,  jump  over  and  surrender,  and 
others  were  crowded  down  to  fill  their  places.  It  was  there 
that  the  somewhat  celebrated  tree  preserved  in  the  war 
museum  of  Washington  was  cut  in  two  by  bullets;  there  that 
the  brush  and  logs  were  cut  to  pieces  and  whipped  into  basket 
stuff;  there  that  the  enemy's  ditches  and  cross-sections  were 
filled  with  dead  men  several  deep.  I  was  at  the  Angle  the 
next  day.  The  sight  was  terrible  and  sickening,  much  worse 
than  at  Bloody  Lane  (Antietam).  There  a  great  many  men 
were  lying  in  the  road  and  across  the  rails  of  the  torn  down 
fences,  and  out  in  the  cornfield,  but  they  were  not  piled  up 
several  deep,  and  their  flesh  was  not  so  torn  and  mangled  as 
at  the  'Angle.'  " 

Glad  enough  were  we  to  reach  our  supplies  at  the  "White 
House"  on  the  twenty-first,  where  we  passed  the  night.  (The 
"White  House"  was  the  property  of  Robert  E.  Lee.)  On 
the  twenty-second  an  immense  train  of  nine  hundred  wagons 
started  to  join  the  main  army.  The  cavalry  was  ordered  to 
protect  these  trains  until  they  had  crossed  the  James  at  Ber- 
muda Hundied  on  pontoon  bridges.  After  crossing  the 
Chickahominy  at  Jones's  Bridge,  General  Torbert  with  one 
division  was  held  with  the  train,  while  General  Gregg  with 
our  division  was  sent  to  a  place  called  St.  Mary's  Church  to 
protect  an  uncovered  flank.  Our  own  brigade,  under  General 
Davies,  was  stationed  in  an  open  space  on  slightly  rising 
ground,  in  the  center  of  which  was  a  shabby  little  house,  the 
inmates  consisting  of  an  invalid,  with  his  wife  and  several 
children.     They  were  thoroughly  alarmed  at  the  threatening 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  153 

outlook,  as  well  they  might  be.  When  the  conflict  began  this 
family  sought  refuge  in  the  cellar,  and  emerged  after  it  was  all 
over  unharmed.  We  were  here  confronted  again  by  our  agile 
and  valiant  opponents,  the  cavalry  divisions  of  Hampton  and 
Lee,  who  were  eager  to  obtain  some  of  the  rich  pickings  in 
the  trains  moving  along  "so  near  and  yet  so  far." 

Several  hundred  yards  in  our  front  was  the  edge  of  a  dense 
forest,  and  from  the  frequent  interchange  of  shots  between 
our  advance  pickets  and  the  concealed  foe,  it  was  apparent 
that  danger  lurked  in  those  dark  recesses.  The  morning  and 
a  portion  of  the  afternoon  wore  wearily  away.  The  train  to 
be  protected  had  nearly  passed,  and  the  troops  were  drawn 
up  ready  to  retire,  when  suddenly  the  enemy  opened  a  furious 
fusillade  from  the  woods.  Henceforth,  until  darkness  ended 
the  conflict,  it  was  with  us  a  series  of  stands  and  retreats,  for 
the  foe  greatly  outnumbered  our  forces.  At  every  position 
lost  by  us,  the  enemy  planted  his  artillery,  and  vigorously 
bombarded  our  retreating  troops,  inflicting  some  damage,  but 
the  main  effect  was  to  increase  the  speed  of  the  retreating 
trains  and  non-combatants. 

In  the  beginning  the  usual  field  hospital  had  been  estab- 
lished a  mile  or  so  in  the  rear,  and  there  the  wounded  were 
brought.  Orders  soon  came  to  move  further  on,  and  the 
wounded  were  relifted  into  the  ambulances  and  carried  to  a 
place  supposed  to  be  secure;  but  presently  an  aid  dashed  up 
and  in  great  excitement,  cried  to  us  to  "get  out  of  here,"  as 
the  Confederates  were  close  at  hand.  A  few  bursting  shells 
gave  emphasis  to  these  words,  and  with  no  delay,  the  wounded 
were  once  again  hustled  into  the  waiting  ambulances.  The 
last  one  had  disappeared,  and  I  was  about  to  follow,  when 
four  men  came  up  bearing  a  wounded  man  upon  a  shutter. 
Dismounting  and  kneeling  by  his  side,  I  found  him  to  be  my 
good  friend,  Adjutant  Baldwin,  who  gave  me  such  words  of 
cheer  when  I  first  joined  the  regiment.  He  was  suffering 
with  what  was  evidently  a  fatal  wound  in  the  side.  He  rec- 
ognized me  only  by  my  voice,  and  asked  in  faltering  tones  if 
his  wound  was  mortal.  My  answer  was  perhaps  evasive,  but 
he  divined  instantly  the  truth,  and  in  tones  intensely  pathetic, 
and  which  seem  to  me  as  real  now  as  then,  he  said:  "My 
time,  then,  has  come;  I  must  die."     At  this  time  men  were 


154  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

madly  rushing  to  the  rear,  and  on  a  crest  of  ground  not  far 
away,  the  enemy  plainly  could  be  seen.  The  "boys,"  though 
quite  exhausted,  willingly  lifted  the  dying  man  again  in  a  last 
attempt  to  place  him  beyond  the  reach  of  danger.  A  loud 
shout,  sharper  firing,  and  the  tread  of  horses,  revealed  at  that 
moment  a  body  of  charging  Confederate  cavalry  directly  be- 
hind us.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose;  recognizing  this, 
the  adjutant,  raising  himself  upon  his  elbow  with  a  last  effort, 
gazed  wildly  at  the  approaching  foe  and  exclaimed,  "Leave 
me,  boys,  leave  me,"  and  he  was  dropped  and  left  to  his  fate. 
The  horsemen  rushed  by,  but  fortunately  without  injuring 
him,  and  the  next  day  we  returned  in  quest  of  him  and  found 
his  dead  body  by  the  roadside.  We  learned  that  he  lived  but 
a  short  time  after  our  departure,  and  was  attended  and  min- 
istered to  by  a  kindly  old  negro.  I  can  never  recall  without 
emotion  the  evidences  of  the  Adjutant's  inherent  nobility  of 
character  as  illustrated  by  his  quick  cry  of  "Leave  me,  boys." 
When  it  is  remembered  that  for  a  period  of  six  weeks  dur- 
ing this  campaign  not  only  was  it  oppressively  hot,  but  that  not 
a  drop  of  rain  fell,  our  hardships  will  be  better  appreciated. 
Springs  and  ponds  were  dried,  and  of  many  of  the  larger 
streams  only  trickling  rills  were  to  be  seen.  The  dust  lay 
ankle-deep  upon  the  highways,  and  frequently  the  troops  were 
so  completely  enveloped  in  it  that  objects  not  many  feet  dis- 
tant were  invisible.  It  was  fine  dust,  penetrating  eyes,  ears, 
nose  and  throat,  both  of  man  and  beast,  rendering  it  difficult 
to  tell  the  blue  coat  from  the  gray.  One  of  the  sad  and  yet 
seemingly  necessary  cruelties  of  the  campaign  was  the  sacri- 
fice of  our  faithful  horses.  Whenever  they  became  too  ex- 
hausted to  proceed  further  without  rest  in  our  forced  marches, 
or  if  they  became  lame,  through  the  loss  of  a  shoe,  which 
could  not  be  replaced,  or  if  the  back  became  too  sore  to  ride, 
they  were  immediately  shot.  This  was  done  to  prevent  their 
falling  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  For  this  purpose  there 
was  always  a  rear  guard,  and  when  the  disabled  horses  fell 
back,  they  were  immediately  shot.  On  one  very  hot  day  dur- 
ing a  terrible  march  I  remember  counting  some  forty-five 
horses  that  had  been  thus  disposed  of  along  a  course  of  less 
than  five  miles. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

SOON  after  this,  utterly  exhausted  and  ill  from  the  expo- 
sure of  this  hard  campaign,  I  was  granted  a  short  fur- 
lough and  returned  home  to  Milan,  Ohio.  When  I  re- 
turned to  duty  I  found  that  General  Sheridan  had  left  us.  He 
had  been  assigned  to  the  Command  of  the  Department  of  the 
Shenandoah,  and  taking  with  him  two  of  the  three  cavalry 
divisions  constituting  our  corps,  he  began  that  series  of  bril- 
liant movements  ending  in  the  practical  annihilation  of  Early's 
army. 

The  second  dvision,  commanded  by  General  Gregg,  was 
left  behind  to  co-operate  with  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 
From  this  time  onward  until  November,  when  the  army  went 
into  winter  quarters,  the  cavalry  seconded  the  infantry  in  all 
its  undertakings.  Strong  and  persistent  efforts  were  made 
directly  against  Richmond  and  against  Petersburg,  but  more 
especially  against  the  different  lines  of  railroads  running  from 
the  South  and  Southwest  into  these  cities,  upon  which  Lee's 
army  depended  for  its  supplies.  Most  of  these  efforts  failed, 
but  finally  the  Weldon  railroad  was  captured  after  a  long  and 
bloody  struggle,  and  our  lines  thrown  across  and  beyond  it. 

The  two  armies,  each  strongly  entrenched,  now  confronted 
each  other  in  the  last  desperate  heroic  efforts  of  the  Confed- 
eracy. To  all  appearances  it  was  Richmond  and  Petersburg 
that  were  so  tenaciously  defended  by  Lee,  and  so  eagerly 
sought  for  by  Grant,  but  as  events  proved,  it  was  the  life  of 
his  army  that  the  Confederate  commander  was  so  desperately 
defending,  and  it  was  "this  life  rather  than  any  capital  city, 
however  important,  that  the  union  General  was  seeking.  The 
winter  of  1864-5  was  unusually  severe,  and  the  suffering  from 
cold  and  sleet  was  very  great.  When  in  camp,  however,  we 
lived  in  comparative  comfort,  and  as  it  fell  to  the  cavalry  to 
guard  the  rear  of  the  lines,  its  duty  was  less  severe  and  dan- 
gerous than  that  of  the  infantry  who  faced  each  other  along 
the  front,  almost  constantly  exposed  to  storms  of  shot  and 
shell.  We  had  our  trials,  however,  for  no  sooner  had  we 
begun  to  congratulate  ourselves  upon  our  fortunate  position 

155 


156  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

as  compared  with  the  infantry,  than  we  were  unceremoniously 
packed  off  on  some  errand  of  danger  and  destruction.  For 
example :  Our  regiment  was  on  the  road  to  and  not  far 
from  brigade  headquarters.  Time,  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing; weather  disagreeable  with  cold  and  sleet.  A  horseman 
rattles  by  at  breakneck  speed.  All  who  hear  him  know  well 
his  errand  and  I  confess  to  a  fit  of  shivering,  as  under  my 
army  blanket  I  await  developments.  Simultaneously  with  the 
shake  at  the  Colonel's  door  comes  a  knock  at  my  own,  with 
the  statement  from  the  brigade  surgeon  that  the  division 
has  orders  to  march  within  an  hour  with  three  days'  ration 
and  forage.  This  to  the  surgeon  means  that  the  bugle  must 
sound  the  "sick  call,"  so  that  all  those  who  are  ill  and  unable 
to  go  may  present  themselves  for  examination,  and  be  excused 
in  proper  form.  In  these  outlying  expeditions,  almost  in- 
variably even  before  our  work  was  accomplished,  Confederate 
cavalry  and  infantry  would  be  upon  us,  and  then  would  begin 
fighting  in  retreat,  the  most  disagreeable  of  all  forms  of 
combat,  since  it  was  difficult  in  many  cases  to  take  off  our 
wounded,  and  every  man  labored  under  the  unpleasant  appre- 
hension of  becoming  a  prisoner  and  a  candidate  for  Anderson- 
ville,  Belle  Island  or  Libby.  One  night  we  started  for  Stony 
Creek,  some  few  miles  away,  and  after  destroying  a  consider- 
able amount  of  property,  began  the  return  march.  As  usual, 
the  foe  was  quickly  on  our  heels,  and  with  such  increasing 
pressure  that  it  became  necessary  to  take  a  more  positive 
stand.  Therefore  the  first  Maine  Cavalry  was  brought  to  the 
rear  and  distributed  along  a  stretch  of  rising  ground,  behind 
trees  and  stumps  and  fences,  awaiting  the  nearer  approach 
of  the  enemy.  This  regiment  was  armed  with  carbines  of  the 
sixteen-shooter  pattern,  and  when  it  opened  fire,  each  man  dis- 
charging his  cartridges  in  quick  sucession,  it  seemed  as  if,  in- 
stead of  five  hundred,  there  were  five  thousand  hid  in  ambush. 
This  furious  fusillade  lasted  only  a  short  time,  but  effectively 
cooled  the  ardor  of  the  pursuers,  and  elicited  the  remark  from 
a  captured  "Johnny"  that  "You  'uns  put  the  butt  end  of  your 
carbines  against  your  cartridge  boxes  and  fire  without 
stopping." 

Still  another  picturesque  event  is  but  accentuated  by  time. 
It  was  the  close  of  a  clear,  cold  afternoon  in  the  early  winter 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  157 

of  1864.  The  regiment  had  but  an  hour  before  returned  from 
a  severe  siege  of  picket  duty  along  the  recently  captured 
Weldon  railroad  that  extended  to  the  beleaguered  city  of 
Petersburg,  and  the  men,  after  having  cared  for  their  horses, 
were  preparing  their  own  suppers.  All  were  anticipating  a 
quiet  night  when  an  order  came  to  prepare  to  move  within  an 
hour.  "Boots  and  saddles"  was  sounded,  and  shortly  after 
dusk  the  regiment  wended  its  way  outside  the  camp,  where  it 
found  a  long  line  of  cavalry  waiting  for  us  to  lead. 

Of  our  destination,  or  on  what  errand  bound,  we  were,  as 
usual,  profoundly  ignorant. 

Reams'  Station,  on  the  Weldon  railroad,  the  scene  of  sharp 
fighting  some  months  before,  was  soon  reached,  and  as  we 
filed  by  a  number  of  deserted  buildings,  torn  through  and 
through  by  shot  and  shell  in  the  recent  struggle,  a  sight  was 
presented,  hideous  at  any  time,  but  doubly  impressive  in  view 
of  the  warlike  and  perilous  errand  on  which  we  supposed  our- 
selves bound.  Skeletons,  seemingly  without  number,  were 
seen  on  every  hand.  Some  were  almost  wholly  exposed  to 
view,  some  were  uncovered  from  the  waist  upward,  while 
others  presented  the  spectacle  of  a  head  only  thrust  above  the 
soil.  The  expressions  upon  the  upturned  bony  faces  seemed 
to  alternate  from  grimaces  of  ghastly  glee  to  forbidding 
frowns,  as  they  lay  exposed  in  the  bright  moonlight  or  in  the 
shadow  of  the  sentinel-like  pine  trees  and  of  the  moving  col- 
umn of  horsemen.  Entirely  familiar  as  we  all  were  with 
varied  scenes  of  horror,  few  cared  to  give  more  than  a  hurried 
glance  at  these  evidences  of  the  sharp  and  bloody  struggle  in 
which  we  had  participated  the  summer  before,  in  the  success- 
ful effort  to  destroy  and  hold  this  Southern  line  of  communi- 
cation with  the  cities  of  Richmond  and  Petersburg.  Up  a 
winding  way  the  head  of  the  column  moved  until  it  reached  a 
commanding  eminence  from  which  the  country  for  many  miles 
was  distinctly  visible.  The  moon,  full-orbed,  was  well  above 
the  eastern  horizon,  flooding  the  earth  with  its  pale,  mystic 
radiance.  Glancing  back  over  our  tortuous,  ascending  route 
of  march,  nearly  the  whole  length  of  the  moving  line  of  horse- 
men, artillery,  and  ambulances — gleaming  white  and  sug- 
gestive— could  be  seen  toiling  along,  while  far  to  the  rear 
glowed  many  a  camp  and  picket  fire.     The  whole  column  was 


158  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

now  urged  into  a  brisk  trot,  and  soon  our  advance  guard 
struck  a  weak  picket  force,  which  at  once  fled,  leaving  us  in 
undisputed  possession  of  a  number  of  dilapidated  but  spacious 
outbuildings  filled  to  overflowing  with  bacon,  meal,  and  other 
vital  necessities  for  the  Confederate  soldier.  To  apply  the 
torch  was  the  work  of  a  moment,  and  almost  instantly  the 
inflammable  material  was  furiously  blazing,  giving,  as  we  well 
knew,  quick  intelligence  of  our  handiwork  to  the  watchful  foe. 
The  errand  of  destruction  completed,  the  column  retraced  its 
steps  with  all  possible  speed,  but  not  with  sufficient  rapidity 
to  elude  the  enemy.  On  arriving  at  the  clearing  to  which  allu- 
sion has  been  made,  we  found  hastily  entrenched  across  the 
road  and  along  the  edge  of  the  wood  at  right  angles  to  it,  a 
force  sufficiently  formidable  to  impede  our  progress.  "Pre- 
pare to  dismount  and  fight  on  foot,"  was  the  order  passed 
rapidly  down  the  command,  and  from  each  company,  with 
varying  cadence,  the  quick,  nervous  count  of  "One,  two,  three, 
four,"  so  familiar  to  every  cavalryman,  was  soon  ringing  out. 

The  count  finished,  the  order  to  dismount  was  given,  to  be 
obeyed  by  every  first,  second  and  third  man,  while  the  fourth 
remained  in  charge  of  his  own  horse  and  those  of  his  com- 
panions. 

The  fourth  man  no  doubt  considered  himself  fortunate,  as 
he  for  the  time  being  escaped  the  danger  of  battle.  On  this 
occasion,  when  the  count  began  in  one  of  the  companies  near 
where  I  stood,  the  fourth  man,  pleased  that  he  was  to  escape 
the  fight,  lustily  shouted  "Bully!"  instead  of  "four,"  as  he 
should  have  done.  The  others,  entering  into  the  humor,  fol- 
lowed suit,  and  down  the  company  front,  from  head  to  foot, 
rang  the  cry  of  "One,  two,  three,  bully!"  over  and  over  again. 

The  captain,  however,  was  a  strict  disciplinarian,  always 
ready  for  a  fight  and  in  no  humor  for  any  nonsense,  and,  to 
the  utter  discomfiture  of  each  "four,"  he  called  out,  "Two, 
three  and  four  dismount !  One  remains  with  horses  !"  In  the 
skirmish  that  followed  one  of  the  "fours"  of  this  company 
was  killed  and  another  wounded,  illustrating  on  how  slight  a 
thing  hinges  the  alternation  of  weal  or  woe,  of  life  or  death. 

The  opposing  forces  were  facing  each  other  along  a  slight 
depression  or  vale  running  at  right  angles  to  the  highway  upon 
which  we  were  returning,  while  in  the  centre  of  this  vale  was  a 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  159 

long  stretch  of  low  bushes  that  fringed  the  borders  of  a  shal- 
low stream.  It  was  now  about  midnight,  and  the  moon,  half- 
way or  more  in  its  course,  brightly  illumined  the  whole  field 
of  action.  In  the  foreground  a  long  line  could  be  seen  with 
arms  glistening  in  the  cold,  pale  light;  away  to  the  right  a 
group  of  horsemen  (the  General  in  command  and  staff)  ;  aides 
with  orders  galloping  rapidly  here  and  there,  and  a  little  to 
the  rear  a  dense  mass  of  led  horses  with  the  men  in  charge. 
The  ambulances — some  in  the  road  and  others  hastily 
grouped  in  a  cleared  field  near  by — awaited  the  order  to  ad- 
vance on  their  errand  of  mercy,  while  to  the  left  of  these  the 
red-uniformed  artillerymen  were  placing  their  guns  in  position. 

The  firing  from  the  enemy  had  all  this  time  been  sharp  but 
somewhat  desultory,  when  suddenly  from  our  own  side  a  rat- 
tling discharge  began,  increasing  in  volume  as  it  rolled  along 
the  front,  and  redoubling  the  fury  of  the  opposing  fire.  For  a 
short  time  the  conflict  was  kept  up  with  unceasing  vigor,  our 
line  slowly  advancing  to  the  stream  and  across  it;  then  as  the 
Confederate  fire  sensibly  slackened,  the  order  to  charge  was 
given,  and  with  a  cheer  the  entire  column  rushed  across  the 
open  space  to  the  temporary  breastworks  of  rail  and  to  the 
woods  beyond. 

The  enemy,  whose  force  was  undoubtedly  far  less  than  our 
own,  gave  way,  and  the  fight  was  at  an  end.  So  suddenly  had 
the  contest  begun,  and  so  quickly  was  it  over,  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult for  the  moment  to  realize  the  true  state  of  affairs.  Over 
the  field  and  around  the  tops  of  the  forest  trees  adjacent 
circled  the  fast-vanishing  smoke  of  battle,  and  the  air  was 
charged  with  sulphurous  odors.  Scattered  over  the  ground 
were  dark  forms,  lying  prone  or  in  sitting  posture — the  dead 
and  severely  wounded;  while  others,  more  lightly  hurt,  yet 
bleeding  and  pale,  were  making  their  way  to  the  waiting  am- 
bulances. There  were  some  with  shattered  limbs  to  whom 
every  movement  was  agony.  How  were  the  broken  bones  to 
be  kept  in  position  for  the  time  being? 

One  suggested  a  neighboring  cornfield,  and  brought  an 
armful  of  dried  stalks,  which,  when  split  and  cut  in  proper 
lengths,  answered  the  purpose  admirably. 

Some  of  the  wounded  were  taken  inside  the  hut  that  occu- 
pied the  clearing.    A  candle  had  been  lighted,  and  by  its  feeble 


160  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

glare  a  wounded  soldier  was  under  examination,  when  to  our 
astonished  gaze  the  floor  itself  seemed  in  motion,  as  if  under 
the  influence  of  a  subterranean  power.  A  broad  plank  was 
lifted  high  and  thrown  to  one  side,  and  a  woolly  head  was 
thrust  from  out  a  dark,  deep  hole.  The  eyes  stared  wildly 
around,  and  the  face  was  grotesquely  anxious,  while  from  the 
lips  issued,  in  all  solemnity  and  earnestness,  "Fore  God,  gem- 
men,  I'se  Union,  I  is!"  We  helped  the  old  man  out,  and  then 
the  old  woman,  and  one  after  the  other  five  little  darkies  of 
various  sizes.  A  ludicrous  spectacle  was,  indeed,  presented 
as  they  issued  from  their  safe  retreat  frightened  and  trembling. 
They  were  speedily  reassured,  however,  and  to  show  their 
good  will  soon  had  a  bright  fire  blazing  and  some  smoking 
hoe  cake  ready.  It  was  long  after  midnight  when  the  last 
man  was  buried,  the  last  wound  dressed,  and  the  column  of 
cavalry,  artillery  and  ambulances  ready  to  move.  We  re- 
passed the  uncovered  skeletons  at  Reams'  Station,  and  at 
last  gladly  filed  into  camp,  as  the  moon,  which  had  witnessed 
our  departure  twelve  hours  before,  was  gradually  disappear- 
ing below  the  western  horizon. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

OUR  regiment  had  been  transferred  from  the  first  to  the 
third  brigade,  commanded  by  Brigadier  General 
Charles  Smith,  formerly  Colonel  of  the  First  Maine 
Cavalry  and  after  the  war  remaining  in  the  service  as  Colonel 
of  the  Nineteenth  Regular  Infantry.  The  brigade  surgeon, 
Dr.  King,  was  about  to  leave  for  an  indefinite  absence,  and 
to  my  great  surprise  I  received  an  order  to  report  to  General 
Smith  at  Brigade  Headquarters  and  assume  chief  medical 
direction.  I  was  not  only  by  far  the  youngest  medical  officer 
in  the  command,  but  I  think  the  youngest  in  service  and  experi- 
ence, and  why  I  should  have  been  chosen  is  to  this  day  a 
mystery  to  me. 

General  Smith  was  under  forty,  and  before  the  war  had 
been  a  teacher  in  Maine,  his  native  State.  He  was  a  man  of 
great  bravery  and  marked  ability,  and  I  was  glad  to  get  to 
know  him  more  intimately.  After  the  war  he  had  political 
aspirations,  and  was  thought  of  for  the  United  States  Senate, 
and  it  was  generally  understood  that  his  appointment  as 
Colonel  in  the  regular  army  was  a  compromise  measure.  He 
was  quiet  and  even  gentle  in  his  manner,  but  when  aroused 
was  capable  of  that  vigorous  language  which  army  life  en- 
genders. 

The  general  occasionally  made  a  tour  of  inspection  along 
his  portion  of  the  picket  line,  and  on  one  occasion  I  accom- 
panied the  party.  It  was  the  duty  of  each  vidette  to  cry 
"Halt!"  to  those  advancing,  and  to  allow  but  one  to  come 
near  to  give  the  countersign.  For  a  time  everything  went 
on  smoothly,  all  seeming  to  understand  their  duty,  until  we 
approached  a  young  fellow,  who  instead  of  halting  us,  simply 
stared  as  if  overpowered  at  sight  of  so  many  officers  advanc- 
ing towards  him.  The  general  kept  on,  and  when  near,  sud- 
denly seized  and  wrenched  the  carbine  from  his  hand,  exclaim- 
ing: "Now,  sir,  you  are  in  my  power,  and  I  can  shoot  you." 
After  a  sharp  lecture  as  to  his  duty,  however,  we  passed  on. 
Soon  we  came  to  a  portion  of  the  line  where  the  relief  party 

161 


1 62  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

was  officered  by  a  captain  of  the  general's  own  regiment,  the 
First  Maine.  Orders  had  been  given  for  those  temporarily 
off  duty  to  be  on  the  alert  and  ready  for  any  emergency,  but 
we  found  the  carbines  lying  around  promiscuously  and  the 
horses  tied  here  and  there  at  random.  The  captain  in  charge 
saluted,  and  the  general,  in  a  mild,  quiet  tone  of  voice,  said, 
"Captain,  did  I  not  order  the  carbines  to  be  stacked?"  "Yes, 
sir."     "Did  I  not  order  the  horses  to  be  fastened  in  line?" 

"Yes,  general,  I  told  the  men,  but "     "You  told  the  men," 

thundered  the  general,  with  an  oath,  actually  rising  in  his 
saddle  in  his  disgust,  "You  told  the  men,  did  you?  You  are 
a  fine  man  to  command.  Hand  me  your  sword  and  consider 
yourself  under  arrest."  And  back  goes  the  astonished  and 
crestfallen  officer  under  a  guard  of  his  own  men. 

It  was  through  General  Smith  that  I  received  my  promo- 
tion from  an  assistant  to  a  full  surgeon,  so  jumping  in  rank 
from  a  first  lieutenant  to  a  major,  and  in  pay  from  $1,500  to 
$2,500  yearly.  While  in  the  general's  tent  one  evening,  he 
casually  said  to  me :  "Doctor,  you  have  no  full  surgeon  with 
your  regiment  now,  have  you?"  I  replied  in  the  negative, 
whereupon  he  said,  "Why  don't  you  apply  for  the  position?" 
I  replied  that  it  had  never  occurred  to  me;  that  I  was  young, 
was  but  a  short  time  graduated,  and  felt  my  want  of  experi- 
ence. "But,"  continued  the  general,  "You  have  been  in  entire 
medical  charge  of  the  regiment  through  the  campaign,  and  that 
certainly  presupposes  competency."  I  then  told  him  what  I 
had  almost  forgotten,  relating  to  my  examination  at  Colum- 
bus, and  the  recommendation  that  followed,  whereupon,  the 
general  with  some  humor  said,  "You  are  too  modest,  doctor. 
In  the  army  you  must  take  all  you  can  get.  Now  let  me  ad- 
vise you  to  sit  right  down  before  this  table  and  write  to  the 
surgeon  general  of  Ohio  and  ask  him  for  the  commission." 
I  complied,  but  with  no  very  confident  belief  that  it  would 
amount  to  anything.  This  is  the  rather  laconic  letter  that  I 
sent: 

Dear  Sir: 

When  I  passed  my  examination  at  Columbus  last  spring  for 
medical  service  in  the  army,  I  was  one  of  three  recommended 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  163 

for  promotion   (for  proficiency  in  examination)    when  a  va- 
cancy should  occur.  That  vacancy  has  now  occurred. 
Very  respectfully, 
A.  D.  Rockwell, 

Ass't  Surgeon,  6th  O.V.C. 

What  was  my  astonishment  and  delight  to  receive  in  less  than 
two  weeks  a  bulky  document  from  the  surgeon  general's  office, 
containing  my  commission  as  major  and  surgeon.  Proudly  I 
speeded  to  division  headquarters  and  showed  it  to  Dr.  Marsh, 
the  division  surgeon,  where  my  high  expectations  were  mo- 
mentarily dashed.  Dr.  Marsh  congratulated  me,  but  at  the 
same  time  expressed  a  doubt  as  to  whether  the  regiment  had 
the  necessary  complement  of  men  to  entitle  it  to  a  full  surgeon. 
Fortunately  for  me,  if  not  for  the  good  of  the  service,  the 
command  was  sufficiently  strong  to  justify  my  claim,  and  I 
was  duly  mustered  in.  And  so  for  this  advance  I  was  in- 
debted in  the  last  analysis  to  General  Smith,  and  it  strongly 
illustrates  the  general  fact  that  in  the  getting  of  rewards  and 
preferment  I  have  been  unduly  negligent  and  have  let  slip  by 
many  an  opportunity.  For  this  I  have  only  myself  to  blame, 
and  yet  not  so  much  blame,  perhaps,  as  it  has  been  through 
life  an  inherent  temperamental  hesitancy  and  timidity,  cloaked 
sometimes  under  a  forced  attitude  of  assurance. 

While  at  headquarters  this  timidity  received  a  rude  shock 
one  Thanksgiving  Day.  General  Smith  had  invited  General 
Gregg,  our  division  commander,  with  his  staff,  to  dine  with 
him  and  his  staff.  It  was  quite  an  imposing  military  array, 
and  as  we  were  about  to  sit  down  at  the  long  table  with  its 
bounteous  repast,  he  motioned  to  me  to  take  the  head  of  the 
table  and  do  the  carving,  "as  I  was  used  to  handling  the 
knives."  Now,  if  there  was  anything  at  which  I  was  a  non- 
expert, and  still  am,  it  was  the  carving  of  fowls,  and  to  my 
dismay  I  found  that  the  bird  before  me  was  a  goose.  I  cer- 
tainly was  a  goose  not  to  have  entered  my  protest  before 
attempting  the  job,  but  at  it  I  went  pursuant  to  orders.  I  did 
my  best,  but  made  such  a  poor  hand  at  it  that  I  begged  our 
host  to  have  pity,  and  let  some  layman,  with  more  skill  than 
I  possessed  with  that  kind  of  a  knife,  take  my  place. 


i64  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

It  was  after  the  dinner  that  I  overheard  a  conversation 
between  Generals  Gregg  and  Smith  which  greatly  impressed 
me,  especially  in  view  of  what  I  knew  of  General  Gregg.  He 
was  modesty  itself  and  his  reputation  for  calm  and  steady 
bravery  was  of  the  best.  I  recall  one  scene  apropos  of  this. 
I  saw  the  general  during  an  engagement,  sitting  on  his  white 
horse  and  surrounded  by  many  of  his  staff,  as  calmly  smoking 
his  big  meerschaum  pipe  as  if  on  his  own  porch  at  home.  The 
enemy  got  our  range,  and  began  dropping  shells  in  our  direc- 
tion thick  and  fast.  The  staff  gave  evidence  of  more  or  less 
excitement,  but  the  general  sat  unmoved,  slowly  smoking,  nor 
did  he  immediately  change  his  attitude.  He  calmly  removed 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  said,  "Be  calm,  gentlemen, — no 
occasion  for  haste,"  and  then  deliberately  moved  away  to  a 
more  secure  position.  In  admiration  I  said  to  myself  at  the 
time,  "you  certainly  are  a  very  cool  and  courageous  man." 
I  was  not  a  little  surprised  then  to  hear  Gregg  say  to  Smith 
that  he  was  about  to  resign  from  the  army.  "The  fact  of  it 
is,"  said  Gregg,  "I  am  a  good  deal  of  a  coward.  Every  en- 
gagement tells  upon  my  nervous  system  to  the  last  degree, 
and  it  is  only  by  the  exercise  of  all  my  will  power  that  I 
can  appear  natural  and  unafraid."  The  general  may  have 
exaggerated  this  defect  or  weakness,  yet  nevertheless,  there 
must  have  been  a  measure  of  truth  in  what  he  said,  and  grant- 
ing this  I  have  always  held  that  such  men  illustrate  the  highest 
form  of  courage;  duty  and  a  noble  pride,  triumphing  over 
every  inherent  obstacle  and  ignoble  sentiment. 

I  have  always  understood  that  it  was  not  alone  this  dis- 
taste for  active  service  that  hastened  the  resignation  of  Gen- 
eral Gregg.  He  had  served  from  the  beginning  of  the  war 
and  was  never  found  wanting,  but  he  probably  did  not  possess 
those  brilliant  and  aggressive  qualities  so  marked  in  some  of 
the  younger  officers.  He  possessed  calm  courage  and  sound 
judgment,  but  these  did  not  capture  the  fancy,  as  did  the 
hurrah  and  dash  of  such  excellent  men  as  Custer,  Kilpatrick 
and  others.  As  a  consequence,  such  youngsters  as  these  forged 
ahead  of  men  like  Gregg,  whose  qualifications  perhaps  were 
more  solid.  There  is  no  question  but  that  he  was  disappointed 
in  a  way,  and  that  this  disappointment  was  no  unimportant 
factor  in  his  decision  to  leave  the  service. 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  165 

And  so  the  winter  of  1864-65  wore  away,  wearily  at  times, 
at  least  for  some  of  us  who  had  little  to  do  when  in  camp, 
but  enlivened,  as  I  have  already  stated,  by  periodical  spurts  of 
activity. 

One  fine  day  I  accepted  an  invitation  to  accompany  an 
officer  under  a  flag  of  truce  to  the  picket  line  of  the  enemy. 
The  object  was  to  transfer  some  southern  women  through  the 
lines.  We  were  received  courteously  by  the  Confederate 
officer,  when  my  attention  was  attracted  towards  a  lengthy  and 
swarthy  individual  with  long,  dark  hair,  lying  at  full  length 
upon  the  ground.  He  was  introduced  as  Captain  Pryor,  and 
as  he  arose  I  saw  that  he  looked  very  much  like  an  Indian. 
This  was  the  notorious,  if  not  celebrated,  Roger  A.  Pryor, 
who  figured  so  prominently  in  Congress  before  the  war  as  a 
pronounced  southern  fire-eater.  He  had  commanded  a  brig- 
ade in  the  Confederate  army  with  the  rank  of  brigadier  gen- 
eral, but  here  I  found  him  with  the  rank  of  a  mere  captain  of 
scouts.  I  never  knew  why, — but  it  must  have  been  that  he 
was  not  altogether  satisfactory  for  high  command  or  else 
his  brigade  would  not  have  been  consolidated  with  another 
and  he  left  out  in  the  cold.  His  wife  has  written  much  and 
interestingly  about  him  and  their  war  experiences,  and  later 
about  their  experiences  in  the  north  after  the  war.  I  never 
actually  met  him  again,  but  once  saw  him  under  very  different 
circumstances.  It  was  at  the  trial  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher, 
where  Pryor  had  been  retained  as  one  of  the  prosecuting 
counsel. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ON  the  twenty-seventh  of  March,  1865,  we  heard  with 
pleasure  that  General  Sheridan  had  again  joined  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  with  the  other  two  cavalry  divi- 
sions. With  these  reunited  cavalry  forces,  Sheridan  led  the 
van  in  a  chase  of  a  hundred  miles  or  more  towards  Appomat- 
tox Court  House.  In  the  early  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth  he 
moved  his  cavalry  out  for  the  purpose  of  getting  to  the  right 
and  rear  of  Lee's  army.  For  some  time  we  stood  in  a  long 
line,  and  soon  attracted  the  fire  of  a  spiteful  little  battery  or 
two  in  plain  sight.  At  first  these  shells  fell  short,  but  soon 
one  came  and  exploded  just  before  reaching  our  part  of  the 
line.  I  saw  the  fragments  coming  and  felt  sure  that  one  par- 
ticular piece  was  destined  for  me.  Instead  it  made  directly 
for  my  colored  servant,  or  rather  for  the  mule  on  which  he 
was  mounted,  and  took  him  squarely  in  the  flank.  When  the 
boy  saw  that  missile  coming  he  seemed  almost  to  turn  white 
with  fright,  while  his  contortions  were  so  grotesque  and  his 
bulging  eyes  so  suggestive  of  comical  terror,  if  terror  can 
ever  be  said  to  be  comical,  that  there  was  a  universal  shout  of 
laughter.  A  third  shot  was  better  aimed  and  its  course,  too, 
was  directly  behind  me.  There  were  four  horsemen  abreast. 
The  first  sat  erect,  and  the  shell  passed  in  front  of  him,  the 
second  leaned  forward  over  his  horse's  neck,  and  the  shell 
carried  away  his  knapsack.  It  missed  the  third  man,  who  also 
probably  sat  erect,  and  finally  buried  itself  in  the  hip  of  the 
fourth  horse.  Still  another  of  these  conical  six  pounders 
came,  and  this  time  found  its  human  mark.  It  went  under 
the  shoulder  blades  and  completely  through  the  body  of  a 
soldier.  I  dismounted  and  was  instantly  at  his  side.  He  was 
living  and  conscious,  and  yet  how  a  man  could  live  a  moment 
after  such  a  gaping  wound  I  could  hardly  see.  His  constant 
cry  was  for  "water,  water,"  as  is  always  the  case  with  those 
mortally  wounded.  He  was  immediately  taken  away  in  an 
ambulance,  but  died  a  few  minutes  after.  Orders  now  came 
to  change  our  position,  and  none  too  soon,  for  what  good 
could  it  do  for  us  to  stand  inert  and  helpless  in  line  of  fire, 

166 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  167 

except  to  give  the  Confederates  a  chance  to  practise  marks- 
manship. It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  affair  was 
stupidly  unnecessary. 

Moving  thence  to  Dinwiddie  Court  House,  we  encamped 
for  the  night  in  a  pouring  rain,  which  continued  all  the  next 
day,  rendering  the  roads  absolutely  impassable  for  artillery 
and  wagons,  and  necessitating  the  construction  of  many  miles 
of  corduroy.  There,  through  all  the  dismal  downpour  of  the 
thirtieth  of  March,  we  stood  around  in  the  wet  and  mud,  a 
supremely  uncomfortable  and  dispirited  crowd.  And  cer- 
tainly the  outlook  was  not  encouraging.  The  country  there- 
abouts was  low  and  flat,  covered  with  forest  and  thick  under- 
brush, and  abounding  in  swamps  and  sluggish  streams  that 
drained  the  water  slowly.  The  soil,  in  its  mixture  of  clay  and 
mud,  was  most  uncertain  and  treacherous.  The  infantry,  in 
desperate  efforts  to  get  to  Lee's  right  flank  and  rear,  toiled 
along  manfully,  but  with  exasperating  slowness,  and  if  anyone 
had  ventured  to  assert  that  within  two  weeks  and  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  where  we  then  stood  shivering  and  discon- 
solate, the  army  of  Northern  Virginia  would  surrender  to 
General  Grant,  he  would  have  been  considered  a  fit  subject  for 
the  lunatic  asylum.  General  Sheridan  had  been  given  large 
discretionary  powers.  As  in  the  Valley,  he  commanded  in- 
fantry also,  and  could  no  longer  be  considered  simply  in  his 
capacity  as  a  cavalry  leader.  On  the  first  of  April  he  fought 
and  won  the  bloody  battle  of  Five  Forks,  which  was  the  be- 
ginning of  Lee's  utter  discomfiture. 

On  the  morning  of  the  thirty-first  of  March  our  brigade 
moved  out  to  a  small  stream  called  Chamberlain's,  a  mile  or 
so  from  the  court  house,  and  formed  along  its  edge — connect- 
ing with  Davies'  brigade  a  mile  above,  while  the  remaining 
brigade  of  the  division  was  held  in  reserve.  Here  Lee's  and 
Rosser's  cavalry  divisions  succeeded  in  forcing  a  passage,  but 
were  afterwards  driven  back  with  heavy  loss.  The  fighting 
was  very  severe.  Standing  under  a  large  tree,  not  two  hun- 
dred yards  in  the  rear  of  the  forces  that  were  struggling  for 
the  possession  of  the  stream,  I  had  a  most  excellent  oppor- 
tunity to  observe  several  acts  of  gallantry.  One  of  these  re- 
lates to  the  enemy.  In  an  attempt  to  charge  the  stream,  they 
were  driven  back  to  their  cover.     One  of  their  men,  however, 


1 68  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

was  left  badly  wounded  in  the  water  and  exposed  to  the  fire 
of  both  sides.  Suddenly  a  Confederate  rushed  into  the  shal- 
low waters  of  the  stream  and  bore  his  helpless  comrade  safely 
to  the  other  side,  and  I  imagined  for  a  moment  the  fire  sen- 
sibly slackened  in  obedience  to  an  inherent  impulse  and  ad- 
miration for  a  gallant  act. 

In  order  to  encourage  our  men  the  brass  band  was  brought 
up,  and  on  the  other  side  the  Confederates  had  theirs  going 
also  and  the  strains  of  "The  Union  Forever"  and  "Way 
Down  in  Dixie"  mingled  with  the  rattle  of  musketry  and 
cheers  of  the  men.  General  Sheridan  himself  here  did  a  char- 
acteristic act.  To  encourage  the  men  whose  ammunition  was 
running  low,  he  galloped  madly,  and  under  fire  along  a  part 
of  the  line,  bareheaded,  with  hat  in  hand. 

Finally,  however,  the  Confederate  cavalry,  aided  by 
Pickett's  division  of  infantry,  succeeded  in  forcing  a  passage 
over  the  "Run,"  pierced  our  line,  and  pressed  our  two  brig- 
ades back  towards  Dinwiddie.  This  was  the  first  time  that 
I  had  ever  been  in  such  a  pell  mell  retreat.  It  was  getting 
dark,  everything  was  confusion  and  disorder,  and  for  all  we 
knew  we  might  be  suddenly  stampeded  even  to  a  greater  de- 
gree; and  so  we  were  quite  glad  to  find  ourselves  soon  after 
in  a  secure  position,  with  opportunity  to  break  our  long  fast. 

The  hamlet  where  we  camped  and  from  which  we  had  gone 
out  in  the  morning  to  battle  was  called  Dinwiddie  Court 
House,  the  county  town.  The  venerable  court  house  had  been 
sacked,  and  both  recent  and  ancient  documents  were  scattered 
over  the  ground  in  every  direction.  A  few  of  these  I  picked 
up,  some  dating  back  more  than  two  centuries,  and  they  are 
now  in  my  possession. 

The  spirited  contest  just  described  was  only  preliminary 
to  the  greater  and  more  historic  struggle  of  the  morrow,  the 
battle  of  Five  Forks,  which  resulted  in  the  capture  of  the 
lines  of  breastworks  thrown  up  to  impede  our  progress,  with 
more  than  three  thousand  Confederate  prisoners. 

In  the  meanwhile  various  fierce  assaults,  both  successful  and 
unsuccessful,  had  been  made  by  remaining  portions  of  the 
army  against  the  fortifications  encircling  the  two  cities  of 
Richmond  and  Petersburg,  and  on  the  third,  General  Grant 
gave  orders  for  what  was  hoped  would  be  a  final  and  success- 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  169 

ful  assault.  At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  however,  it  was 
discovered  that  General  Lee  had  abandoned  every  entrench- 
ment, leaving  us  in  undisputed  possession. 

And  now  began  in  good  earnest  the  flight  of  the  enemy's 
army,  with  ours  in  close  pursuit  and  General  Custer  in  the 
van.  It  was  only  six  days  that  this  race  was  kept  up,  until 
the  enemy's  remnant  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth,  like  a  lion 
driven  to  his  lair,  made  its  final  desperate  struggle.  But  who 
shall  attempt  to  describe  in  minute  detail  the  incessant  ac- 
tivity of  the  two  armies  during  that  brief  period? 

Every  road  for  many  miles  was  thronged  with  the  pursued 
and  pursuing.  With  every  nerve  strained  to  highest  tension, 
Lee's  objective  point  was  Lynchburg,  with  its  rations  and  de- 
fenses. The  very  poverty  of  his  troops  was  an  aid  towards 
this.  Lightly  loaded,  and  impelled  by  every  impulse  of  self- 
preservation,  they  marched  with  quick  step,  and  although 
suffering  from  hunger  and  the  depression  of  expiring  hopes, 
they  for  a  time  repelled  with  all  their  old-time  vigor  and  dash, 
every  onslaught  of  ours.  The  two  armies  were  now  moving 
parallel  with  each  other  along  the  line  of  the  Appomattox 
River.  Every  day  had  its  battle,  with  smaller  affairs  not 
designated.  The  fight  at  Scott's  Corners  occurred  on  the 
second,  Sweathouse  Creek  on  the  third,  Tabernacle  Church 
and  Amelia  Court  House  on  the  fourth,  Fame's  Cross  Roads 
on  the  fifth,  Sailor's  Creek  on  the  sixth,  Farmville  on  the 
seventh,  and  Appomattox  on  the  ninth.  Sailor's  Creek  was 
one  of  the  severe  cavalry  fights  of  the  war. 

The  Confederates  fought  with  desperation,  but  thousands 
of  prisoners  were  taken  including  many  general  officers,  among 
whom  was  the  famous  one-legged  General  Ewell.  I  was  en- 
gaged in  an  operation  near  the  roadside,  and  looking  up,  I 
saw  these  generals  as  they  were  being  conducted  to  the  rear, 
and  immediately  recognized  Ewell  by  his  deformity. 

Owing  to  the  rapid  movements  of  the  troops  and  the  con- 
stant fighting  the  wounded  were  soon  left  far  behind,  and  in 
attending  them,  I,  with  my  little  party  of  helpers,  found  my- 
self many  miles  to  the  rear.  For  a  day  or  two  before  we 
overtook  the  regiment  our  route  lay  along  roads  crowded 
with  marching  columns  of  infantry  and  artillery,  and  as  we 
prolonged  our  chase  far  into  the  night,  the  scene  on  every 


i7o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

hand  was  rare  and  picturesque  beyond  description.  Passing 
along  the  highway,  through  the  encampment  of  some  corps  or 
division,  the  gleam  from  innumerable  fires  would  redden  the 
atmosphere  for  miles.  In  every  direction  they  could  be  seen, 
now  blazing  up  brightly,  now  glimmering  faintly,  while  in 
closer  proximity  every  fire  had  its  group  of  weary  men,  intent 
on  refreshment  and  repose.  As  the  light  played  over  the 
forms  and  faces  of  these  men  and  of  those  that  were  sleeping, 
with  here  and  there  a  blood-stained  bandage,  as  it  was  reflected 
from  the  stacked  arms,  and  penetrating  woody  recesses,  re- 
vealed still  other  groups  of  blue-coated  soldiers,  scenes  were 
presented  well  worthy  to  be  reproduced  upon  canvas. 

American  art  is  progressing,  but  no  one  thing  more  clearly 
indicates  the  inferior  position  it  held  after  our  great  war  than 
the  utter  and  lamentable  lack  of  any  adequate  reproduction 
of  its  scenes  and  battles.  After  the  Franco-German  War  of 
1870  there  were  many  artistic  and  truly  great  representations 
of  the  German  and  French  soldiers  and  of  war  time  in  those 
countries  in  all  its  varying  phases;  but  we  have  had  no  Detaille 
or  DeNeuville  to  do  the  same  for  our  own  soldiers. 

We  finally  overtook  our  command  near  Prince  Edward 
Court  House,  and  as  I  write  these  words  an  incident  is  re- 
called that  is  worth  telling: 

"When  General  Sheridan  at  the  head  of  his  troops  reached 
this  town,  he  dismounted  at  the  fence  of  a  stiff  old  gentleman 
who  was  sitting  on  his  high  piazza  and  scowling  severely  as 
we  rode  up.  He  was  the  typical  southerner  of  fifty  years  ago; 
his  long  gray  hair  fell  over  the  collar  of  his  coat.  He  was 
arrayed  in  a  swallowtail  of  a  bygone  period;  a  buff  linen 
vest,  cut  low,  and  nankeen  pantaloons  springing  far  above  the 
feet  that  were  neatly  encased  in  morocco  slippers.  A  bristling 
shirt  frill  adorned  his  bosom,  and  from  the  embrasure  of 
his  wall-like  collar,  he  shot  defiant  glances  at  us  as  we  clattered 
up  the  walk  to  his  house.  Prince  Edward  Court  House  was  a 
stranger  to  war,  and  our  indignant  friend  was  looking  for  the 
first  time  on  the  like  of  us,  and  certainly  he  didn't  seem  to  be 
pleased  by  our  appearance.  He  bowed  in  a  dignified  way  to 
the  general,  who  bobbed  at  him  carelessly,  and  sat  down  on  a 
step,  drew  out  the  inevitable  map,  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and 
asked  our  host  if  any  of  Lee's  troops  had  been  seen  about 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  171 

there  to-day.  "Sir,"  he  said,  "as  I  can  truly  say  that  none 
have  been  seen  by  me,  I  will  say  so;  but  if  I  had  seen  any,  I 
should  feel  it  my  duty  to  refuse  to  reply  to  your  question.  I 
cannot  give  you  any  information  which  might  work  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  General  Lee."  This  neat  little  speech,  clothed 
in  unexceptionable  diction,  which  no  doubt  had  been  awaiting 
us  from  the  time  we  tied  our  horses  at  the  gate,  missed  fire 
badly.  It  was  very  patriotic  and  all  that,  but  the  general 
was  in  no  humor  to  chop  patriotism  just  then  so  he  only  gave 
a  soft  whistle  of  surprise,  and  returned  to  the  attack  unscathed. 
"How  far  is  it  to  Buffalo  River?"  "Sir,  I  don't  know." 
"The  devil  you  don't! — how  long  have  you  lived  here?" 
"All  my  life."  "Very  well,  sir,  it  is  time  you  did  know. 
Captain,  put  this  gentleman  in  charge  of  a  guard,  and  when 
we  move  walk  him  down  to  Buffalo  River  and  show  it  to  him." 
And  so  he  was  marched  off,  leaving  us  a  savage  glance  at  part- 
ing, and  that  evening  tramped  five  miles  away  from  home  to 
look  at  a  river  which  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  his  own 
family."* 

And  yet  I  cannot  but  admire  the  sturdy  fearlessness  of  the 
old  fellow  who  did  not  shirk,  but  who  stood  to  the  last  for 
what  he  believed  to  be  the  right. 

It  was  reserved  for  this  last  short  campaign  to  demonstrate 
the  inestimable  value  of  cavalry  most  decidedly.  In  the  earlier 
history  of  the  war  it  was  mainly  used  for  the  establishment 
of  cordons  around  a  sleeping  infantry  force,  or  for  the  protec- 
tion of  trains.  General  Sheridan  did  much  to  correct  this 
want  of  appreciation  for  a  well-managed  body  of  horse,  for 
his  idea  was  that  cavalry  should  not  only  fight  the  enemy's 
cavalry,  but  his  infantry  as  well  should  occasion  demand.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  the  persistent  attacks  of  the  cavalry  upon 
the  flank  and  rear  of  the  rapidly  retreating  army,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  he  would  have  eluded  us.  It  was  the  cavalry 
which,  marching  night  and  day,  finally  forged  ahead  of  the 
Confederate  army,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  eighth  of  April 
threw  itself  boldly  across  the  enemy's  path. 

That  night  from  their  elevated  position  the  sleepless  pickets 
of  my  own  regiment,  the  Sixth  Ohio  Cavalry,  saw  the  camp 

*With  Sheridan  in  Lee's  Last  Campaign — by  a  Staff  officer. 


i72  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

fires  of  what  was  left  of  Lee's  weary  troops,  as  they  flared 
and  finally  died  away  in  the  amphitheatre  below.  To  be 
directly  in  the  pathway  of  a  desperate  and  dangerous  enemy 
at  bay  is  not  the  most  pleasant  of  positions,  but  even  the  rank 
and  file  had  heard  that  the  infantry  supports  were  being 
pushed  rapidly  forward,  and  knew  that  the  expected  morning 
attack  must  be  held  in  check  at  whatever  cost.  At  daybreak 
the  forming  of  the  lines  of  the  foe  could  be  plainly  seen  and 
soon  our  brigade  and  that  of  Mackenzie  were  attacked  in 
front  and  flank,  and  so  rapidly  were  we  pushed  back  that  it 
seemed  as  if,  after  all,  they  might  escape  us.  All  this  time, 
however,  the  infantry  had  been  hurrying  on  with  might  and 
main,  and  at  the  supreme  moment,  when  the  cavalry  was  giv- 
ing way  in  every  direction,  Lee  found  two  solid  lines  of  in- 
fantry blocking  the  course.  As  the  white  flag  was  borne  out 
from  the  broken  ranks  of  the  enemy  towards  us,  how  our  cheers 
echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  morning  air  at  the  thought 
of  peace. 

Who  shall  describe  these  things,  and  who  shall  describe  the 
unutterable  sadness  incident  to  the  last  conflict  of  a  long 
struggle?  Men  who  had  passed  unscathed  through  four 
long  years  of  active  warfare  fell  on  this  last  day  and 
closing  hour.  A  personal  friend,  who  had  thus  far  escaped, 
received  on  this  day  a  fearful  wound,  but  from  which  he 
finally  recovered.  I  myself,  as  the  shells  burst  thickly  around, 
feeling  that  the  crucial  moment  had  arrived  and  the  end  was 
near,  must  confess  to  a  more  than  usual  feeling  of  anxiety 
as  regards  personal  danger. 

One  poor  fellow  was  dying,  and  upon  being  told  the  cause 
of  the  cheering  that  reached  his  ears,  mournfully  ejaculated, 
"Too  bad,  too  bad!" 

It  was  only  a  few  months  before  that  I  had  had  occasion 
to  proffer  assistance  to  young  Colonel  Janeway,  commanding 
the  First  New  Jersey  Cavalry,  who  in  an  engagement  had  just 
received  his  eighth  wound.  It  was  a  comparatively  slight  in- 
jury and  I  recall  that  he  said  to  me  at  the  time,  "Doctor,  I 
imagine  that  you  are  the  youngest  surgeon  in  the  corps  and 
I  am  the  youngest  colonel."  He  was  only  about  twenty-one 
years  of  age,  and  that  he  was  brave  and  of  splendid  promise 
goes  without  saying.     Urgent  appeals  from  loving  friends  had 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  173 

extorted  from  him  the  promise  that  if  he  was  ever  wounded 
again  he  would  resign.  Shortly  before  the  last  shot  was  fired 
I  saw  him  gaily  riding  at  the  head  of  his  regiment,  smoking 
his  cigar,  preparatory  to  leading  his  men  into  action.  He 
caught  sight  of  me,  and  waved  his  hand  in  friendly  salute. 
Ten  minutes  later  I  was  kneeling  at  his  side,  as  he  lay  with 
his  ninth  wound,  dead,  with  a  bullet  through  his  brain.  Thus 
at  Appomattox  ended  the  sad  and  bloody  work  that  attended 
the  progress  of  Sheridan's  cavalry. 

And  yet  the  war  was  not  yet  quite  ended.  Johnston's  army 
was  still  intact,  and  confronted  Sherman,  who  was  on  his 
march  from  Savannah  to  Washington.  The  cavalry  was 
therefore  ordered  to  join  this  army  then  marching  northward. 
With  all  haste  we  started,  but  on  reaching  the  borders  of 
North  Carolina,  word  came  to  us  of  Johnston's  surrender  also. 
We  turned  northward  again,  flushed  with  victory,  yet  feeling 
the  calm  that  comes  with  the  thought  that  our  dangers  and 
hardships  were  at  last  over.  The  return  was  more  or  less 
a  joyous  picnic,  the  remembrance  of  which  has  mostly  faded 
from  my  mind. 

One  incident  I  recall  with  pleasure  which  confirms  Sheri- 
dan's comradeship  for  those  who  fought  under  him,  and  his 
genial  bearing  towards  the  private  in  the  ranks.  The  long 
line  of  cavalry  had  started  out  one  morning,  and  Sheridan, 
a  little  belated,  was  making  his  way  along  the  side  of  the  road 
on  which  the  troops  were  marching  to  the  head  of  the  column, 
and  I  remember  that  he  was  astride  his  favorite  "Rienzi"  that 
had  carried  him  on  his  ride  to  Winchester,  made  famous  by 
the  poem  of  Buchanan  Read.  "How  are  you?  How  are 
you?"  I  could  hear  him  say  to  the  soldiers  in  response  to 
their  salutes.  I  was  riding  alone,  the  colonel  having  left  his 
place  for  a  moment,  and  the  general,  seeing  a  beardless  boy 
at  the  head  of  the  regiment,  looked  keenly  at  me  and  said — 
"Good  morning,  Major,  a  pleasant  day,"  and  then,  "Are  you 
the  surgeon  of  the  regiment?"  "Yes,  General."  "Well,  good 
morning,  good  morning — good  morning,"  three  times,  and 
with  a  quizzical  smile  as  if  to  say:  "You  are  a  very  young 
man,"  he  galloped  on.  Many  years  after  at  a  reception  to  the 
army  and  navy  at  the  White  House,  I  was  introduced  to  the 
general,  and  remarked  that  I  was  glad  to  meet  him  again; 


i74  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

that  twenty  years  before  I  used  to  see  him  as  he  was  raiding 
through  Virginia.  In  a  few  moments,  seeing  me  standing 
near,  he  approached  and  said:  "You  were  in  the  army,  then?" 
"Yes,"  I  answered,  "I  was  surgeon  of  the  Sixth  Ohio  Cav- 
alry." "I  remember  the  regiment  very  well,"  he  said,  "and 
it  was  a  good  fighting  regiment." 

Then  with  that  same  quizzical  smile  which  I  so  well  re- 
membered, he  put  in  words  what  I  imagined  he  had  in  mind 
so  many  years  before — "You  must  have  been  a  very  young 
man."  I  asked  him  if  he  remembered  Stedman,  the  colonel 
of  the  regiment,  and  the  message  to  which  I  have  already 
alluded  that  he  sent  to  him  on  one  occasion.  "Indeed  I  do," 
and  seemed  mightily  amused  at  the  recollection. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  April,  1865,  after  a  leisurely  and  joy- 
ous day's  march,  we  struck  camp  in  the  late  afternoon.  A 
beautiful  stream  rippled  softly  along,  accentuating  the  peace- 
ful conditions  and  the  sense  of  rest,  and  while  for  a  moment 
reposing  on  its  banks  and  enjoying  the  quietude  of  the  scene, 
I  was  aroused  by  an  unusual  bustle  and  the  hum  of  voices. 
Excited  groups  had  gathered,  and  the  next  moment  the  appal- 
ling news  of  the  assassination  of  President  Lincoln  reached 
my  ears.  Sorrow  and  burning  indignation  stirred  each  bosom, 
and  with  us,  as  with  many  another  group,  unthinking  and  un- 
worthy thoughts  of  reprisal  and  revenge  usurped  the  place  of 
reason.  The  better  nature  of  the  manly  man,  however,  soon 
conquered  these  wild  bursts  of  temper,  and  common  sense 
assured  us  of  the  folly  of  holding  the  great  body  of  our  late 
enemies  to  blame  for  the  crazy  acts  of  a  few  madmen.  Yet 
nothing  could  bring  back  to  life  the  great  and  good  man  who 
had  for  four  years  guided  and  presided  over  the  destiny  of 
the  nation.  The  South  had  lost  its  best  friend,  and  as  through 
the  long  succeeding  years  she  groaned  under  the  enactments 
of  an  unwise,  unjust,  and  partisan  Congress,  how  she  must 
have  longed  for  such  a  soul  as  Abraham  Lincoln's. 

Such  men  stand  between  a  nation  and  perdition.  They  "see 
the  invisible  justice  in  the  heavens,  and  know  that  it  is  still 
omnipotent  on  earth." 

I  did  not  have  the  good  fortune  to  participate  in  the  Great 
Review  at  Washington  when  the  combined  armies  passed 
gloriously  before  the  President  amid  the  plaudits  of  the  multi- 


A  RIDE  WITH  SHERIDAN  175 

tude.  Troops  had  to  be  retained  in  the  South  to  keep  order 
and  for  the  protection  of  property,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
seventh  of  August  that  the  regiment  received  its  final  dis- 
charge at  Cleveland,  Ohio. 

One  incident  more  and  the  scenes  of  my  army  experiences 
close.  Latterly  I  had  had  an  assistant  surgeon.  He  was  a  Ger- 
man— he  was  also  impecunious.  In  the  goodness  of  my  heart 
I  lent  him  from  time  to  time  a  little  money.  He  was  profuse 
in  his  gratitude,  and  was  to  pay  me  in  full  when  he  drew  his 
money  in  Cleveland. 

He  was  to  meet  me  in  the  morning  at  the  Paymaster's  office. 
I  was  there  bright  and  early  to  meet  him,  but  he  was  there 
still  earlier,  drew  his  pay,  and  was  off  for  parts  unknown.  I 
never  saw  nor  heard  of  him  again,  nor  of  my  fifty  dollars. 
It  should  have  been  a  valuable  experience  for  me,  but,  as  with 
many  others,  the  lessons  taught  by  experience  are  not  always 
thoroughly  learned.  Through  softness  of  heart,  or  a  foolish 
confidence  in  human  nature,  there  have  been  other  dollars  of 
mine  that  have  gone  the  way  of  those  loaned  to  my  assistant 
surgeon. 


(1919) 


Book  IV 
CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

SHORTLY  after  the  close  of  the  War,  but  before  my 
own  discharge,  my  father,  then  fifty-five  years  of  age, 
tired  of  the  hard  work  of  the  farm,  and  influenced  also 
by  the  fact  that  his  children  would  be  for  the  most 
part  settled  in  the  East,  sold  his  place,  and  bought 
another  farm  of  fifty  acres,  in  NewCanaan,  Conn., his  old  home. 
For  a  time  he  again  attempted,  in  a  very  simple  way,  his  pro- 
fession of  teaching,  but  finally  gave  it  up  altogether  and  re- 
sumed his  old  occupation  of  farmer.  I  am  sure  that  he  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  it,  but  hard  physical  work  at  his  age  proved 
a  severe  taskmaster.  It  stiffens  the  joints,  wastes  the  muscular 
tissues,  strains  the  nerves,  and  to  a  certain  extent,  I  firmly  be- 
lieve, dulls  the  intellectual  processes.  And  so  my  father  died 
at  seventy-six  an  old  man.  As  my  mother  remarked,  "he  died 
of  old  age."  I  have  always  regretted  that  it  seemed  neces- 
sary for  him  to  labor  so  strenuously  with  his  hands,  and  yet, 
as  before  remarked,  there  was  a  compensatory  side  to  it  in 
that  he  was  never  more  happy  than  when  out  in  the  fields 
watching  the  progress  of  growing  things  in  which  he  had  a 
part.  "Blessed  is  he  who  has  found  his  work  .  .  .  were 
it  but  true  hand  labor  ...  let  him  ask  for  no  other 
blessedness." 

Immediately  after  my  muster-out  in  August,  1865,  I  came 
East  and  found  my  father  domiciled  in  one-half  of  the  old 
homestead,  my  grandfather's  house  in  Ridgefield,  Conn.  It 
was  in  the  following  fall  that  the  home  and  farm  in  New 
Canaan  was  secured.  My  grandfather  was  in  his  ninetieth 
year  and  although  physically  rather  strong,  was  suffering  from 
a  pronounced  attack  of  aphasia.  He  had  practically  lost  the 
power  of  speech  and  the  co-ordination  of  ideas.  The  only 
words  that  he  could  utter  were,  "Yes,  I  can,"  and  "Oh,  my 
soul,"  and  these  he  was  constantly  repeating  when  he  wished 

177 


178  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

to  express  a  thought  or  wished  anything  done.  That  his  mind 
worked  coherently  was  quite  evident.  For  example,  one 
morning  after  breakfast,  I  observed  my  grandfather  looking 
out  of  the  window,  evidently  somewhat  disturbed,  exclaiming, 
"Oh,  my  soul !  Yes,  I  can."  This  he  kept  repeating  more  and 
more  excitedly,  my  father  vainly  trying  to  interpret  his  mean- 
ing. It  all  sounded  so  strange  that  we  found  it  difficult  to  keep 
straight  faces,  and  this  only  heightened  the  old  gentleman's 
displeasure.  Finally,  taking  father  by  the  arm  he  led  him  into 
the  yard,  pointed  to  a  large  board  lying  on  the  ground,  and 
when  it  was  removed  he  was  quite  satisfied.  The  pathology 
of  the  condition  was  then  quite  unknown  to  me  and  even  the 
name,  although  in  later  years  a  great  variety  of  such  cases 
came  under  my  observation.  The  symptoms  were  due  to  pres- 
sure on  a  certain  cerebral  convolution  or  speech  centre,  and 
were  a  precursor  of  the  near  end. 

My  grandfather  was  born  in  1776,  and  before  the  close  of 
the  Revolution  he  was  old  enough  to  see  and  remember  the 
American  soldier  of  that  time  in  his  suit  of  buff  and  blue. 
His  father,  my  great-grandfather,  died  in  1808.  He  held  a 
lieutenant's  commission,  but  as  it  was  issued  by  the  Common- 
wealth of  Connecticut,  and  not  by  the  Continental  Congress, 
it  does  not  entitle  his  descendants  to  admission  to  the  "Society 
of  the  Cincinnati."  Our  Loyal  Legion  has  a  similar  rule, 
State  troops  not  being  admitted  to  its  ranks.  This  does  not 
seem  to  be  altogether  just,  since  many  of  these  State  troops 
underwent  the  hardships  of  campaigns,  and  the  dangers  of 
battles,  and  still  others  were  subjected  to  the  fiercer  ordeal  of 
being  prisoners  of  war.  Both  my  grandfather  and  great- 
grandfather sleep  in  the  old  burial  ground  at  Ridgefield,  where 
they  lived  and  wrought  in  their  humble  and  useful  way  all 
the  days  of  their  lives.  My  great-great-grandfather  is  also 
buried,  I  am  told,  somewhere  in  the  same  parish,  but  no  one 
knows  just  where.  No  stone  now  marks  his  resting  place,  as 
none  now  remain  over  any  of  the  graves  of  the  four  or  five 
predecessors  of  the  two  to  the  first  John  Rockwell  of  our 
name  and  branch  of  the  family  in  America. 

The  Rockwells  in  their  sphere  have  been  a  goodly  race, — 
there  can  be  no  doubt  about  that.  No  gleam  of  genius  is  dis- 
coverable in  the  stock  nor  even  evidences  of  extraordinary 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  179 

talent,  but  in  multiplying  it  has  given  to  the  state  its  share  of 
sturdy  supporters  and  patriotic  defenders,  and  helped  to  make 
the  nation  great.  For  nearly  three  hundred  years  have  we 
been  here,  and  witnessed  the  transformation  of  a  vast  and  in- 
hospitable wilderness  into  a  great  and  progressive  civilization 
to  which  we  have  contributed  at  least  our  tiny  share. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  winter  of  1865-66  was  mostly  occupied  in  attending 
a  third  course  of  lectures  at  the  College  of  Physicians 
and  Surgeons  then  located  at  Fourth  Avenue  and 
Twenty-third  Street.  And  very  much  I  stood  in  need  of  some 
further  instruction.  My  preliminary  studies  in  medicine  had 
been  very  superficial  and  unsatisfactory,  as  were  all  the  pre- 
scribed courses  at  that  time,  and  in  some  branches  I  had  abso- 
lutely no  practical  experience.  Take  the  important  depart- 
ment of  obstetrics,  for  example.  I  do  not  remember  that  I 
had  ever  seen  a  case  of  parturition.  When,  therefore,  my 
friend,  the  late  Dr.  E.  Darwin  Hudson,  himself  later  an 
expert,  asked  me  if  I  would  assist  him  in  taking  charge  of  a 
case  in  one  of  the  poorer  parts  of  the  town,  I  readily  con- 
sented. Hudson  was  in  the  graduating  class  and  to  its  mem- 
bers the  professor  occasionally  assigned  cases  of  this  kind. 
Hudson  had  never  seen  a  case,  either,  and  in  some  trepidation 
he  turned  to  me  for  help.  I  was  a  graduate  of  two  years.  I 
had  been  an  army  surgeon.  Surely,  here  was  a  young  man  of 
large  experience  and  one  upon  whom  to  lean  in  time  of 
trouble.  It  did  not  occur  to  him,  I  suppose,  and  I  did  not  refer 
to  the  fact  that  with  an  army  in  the  field  there  was  scant  need 
for  the  services  of  an  obstetrician.  We  found  the  suffering 
woman  on  the  top  floor  of  an  old  tenement  and  entirely  un- 
attended. The  only  furniture  of  the  room  was  a  rickety  bed 
(one  end  of  which  broke  down  during  the  accouchement),  a 
washbowl  half  filled  with  dirty  water  and  an  old  chair.  Being 
the  older  and  of  supposed  greater  experience,  I  took  chief 
charge.  The  usual  preliminary  examination  took  place,  of 
which  I  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail,  but  I  looked  wise 
and  pronounced  everything  shipshape.  The  hours  passed 
wearily  and  drearily  away,  and  seeing  no  signs  of  any  imme- 
diate ending,  we  withdrew  for  a  while  to  the  old  Earle's  Hotel 
in  Canal  Street  for  rest  and  refreshment.  Returning  in  the 
course  of  an  hour,  and  making  another  examination,  I  became 
puzzled  and  all  at  sea.  I  felt  the  great  responsibility  of  it  all, 
and   packed   Hudson   off   in   haste   to   the    residence   of   Dr. 

180 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  181 

Thomas  in  lower  Fifth  Avenue  to  report  and  to  ask  for  in- 
structions. In  due  time  he  came  back  with  word  from  the  pro- 
fessor that  everything  was  probably  all  right  and  that  all  we 
had  to  do  was  to  wait.  We  waited,  and  finally  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  morn,  a  new  soul  was  ushered  into  this  waiting 
world.  We  washed  the  babe  and  dressed  it  in  the  few  rags 
we  found  and  went  our  way.  What  of  the  life  and  career  of 
that  boy?  If  still  living  he  would  be  fifty-three  years  of  age. 
Born  in  poverty  and  even  filth  and  disgrace,  as  the  world  has 
it,  like  another  Oliver  Twist,  what  chance  had  he?  A  victim 
of  an  inexorable  fate  had  he  lived,  let  us  hope  that  kind  nature 
soon  took  him  to  herself. 

The  close  of  the  winter  session  found  me  somewhat  better 
equipped  for  practical  service,  and  in  the  spring  I  put  out  my 
shingle  at  my  brother's  house  in  119th  Street  and  Second 
Avenue,  and  engaged  in  active,  or  in  inactive  practice,  for  of 
patients  there  were  not  many.  However,  I  suppose  I  may 
have  done  as  well  as  the  average  young  doctor  during  the  first 
year,  even  though  the  sum  total  of  my  receipts  amounted  to 
but  $400.00.  About  this  time  I  attended  one  evening,  by  in- 
vitation, a  regular  meeting  of  a  musical  organization  of  Har- 
lem. I  was  introduced  to  a  young  lady,  plump,  pretty  and 
vivacious,  by  the  name  of  Landon. 

My  first  remark  to  her  was  to  the  effect  that  the  name  of 
Landon  was  a  familiar  one,  as  one  of  my  best  friends  was 
called  Landon.  My  interest  was  immediately  engaged.  The 
more  I  saw  of  her  the  more  I  liked  her,  and  before  many 
months  this  acquaintance  ripened  into  an  engagement.  Octo- 
ber seventh,  19 18,  marked  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  our  mar- 
riage, one  of  the  fortunate  events  of  my  career  since  it  insured 
for  me  a  long  life  of  domestic  harmony  and  a  family  above 
all  price. 

For  sixteen  years  after  my  marriage,  and  while  my  family 
was  growing  up,  I  made  my  summer  home  in  my  father's 
house.  We  did  not  board,  but  kept  house  on  one  side  of  the 
rather  spacious  old  structure.  Our  sleeping  as  well  as  living 
room  (although  we  had  the  range  of  the  entire  house)  was  big 
enough — some  fifteen  by  thirty  feet,  and  cool  and  comfortable. 
Here  for  many  years  we  slept  the  happy  hours  of  night  away. 
The  first  summer  there  was  a  crib  beside  the  bed  and  a  baby  in 


1 82  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

it.  Two  years  after,  this  baby  was  promoted  to  a  small  bed 
on  the  other  side  of  our  own,  and  another  baby  occupied  the 
crib.  Another  two  years  saw  this  last  baby  sleeping  with  his 
older  brother  in  the  small  bed,  while  baby  number  three  filled 
the  crib.  These  were  all  boys,  every  one,  but  it  would  never 
do  to  have  only  one  kind  and  so  Dame  Fortune  sent  a  girl  and 
with  her  in  a  cradle,  one  in  the  crib  and  two  in  the  little  bed, 
we  made  up  a  happy  family,  as  cozily  fixed  as  one  could 
wish.  We  could  put  our  hands  on  any  one  of  them  o'  nights, 
which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  the  later  years.  As  the  first 
two  boys  grew  older,  say  eight  or  nine  years,  they  were  given 
a  room  upstairs.  Such  happy  days  they  were  for  them  and  for 
us  too,  and  often  I  think  how  fortunate  they  were,  to  have  a 
grandfather's  house  to  which  to  go  for  their  summer  home 
and  a  grandmother's  pantry  to  which  they  could  make  fre- 
quent visits.  Somehow  there  seems  to  be  no  relationship  that 
can  quite  take  their  places.  Years  of  development  and  expe- 
rience have  ripened  the  fruit.  Mellowness  and  softness  and 
just  judgment  attend  on  age  or  else  age  is  not  worth  its  salt; 
and  so  in  the  grandfather  and  grandmother  of  the  right  sort, 
the  child  knows  where  to  find  sympathy  and  favor.  More 
than  this,  at  school  and  at  home,  the  child  is  more  or  less 
dominated,  but  somehow  or  other,  when  in  the  home  of  his 
grandparents,  he  himself  seems  to  be  the  dominant  factor,  and 
well  he  takes  advantage  of  this  opportunity. 

While  studying  at  Bellevue,  before  my  graduation,  I  met 
during  the  rounds  of  the  hospital  wards  a  student  of  the  Col- 
lege of  Physicians  and  Surgeons,  by  the  name  of  George  M. 
Beard,  whose  acquaintance  ripened  into  friendship  and  finally 
into  a  professional  association,  which  changed  the  whole  cur- 
rent of  my  life.  He  belonged  to  the  Alpha  Delta  Phi  fra- 
ternity as  did  I,  and  our  badges  brought  us  together.  Had  it 
not  been  for  this  tie  the  acquaintance  probably  never  would 
have  been  formed,  and  the  work  of  Beard  and  Rockwell,  such 
as  it  was,  would  never  have  taken  form. 

There  are  arguments  against  the  exclusiveness  of  secret  so- 
cieties, but  in  my  own  experience  they  have  opened  up  business 
and  social  relationships  that  have  added  much  to  the  zest  and 
joy  of  life. 


(1882) 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  183 

Dr.  Beard  was  such  a  unique  character  that  I  may  as  well 
say  something  about  him  here  as  elsewhere. 

Let  me  first  mention,  however,  that  after  our  graduation 
we  both  entered  the  service — I  in  the  army  as  an  assistant  sur- 
geon and  he  in  the  navy  as  a  "contract  surgeon."  I  suppose 
neither  of  us  had  any  special  thought  of  seeing  each  other 
again,  but  one  day  after  the  war,  we  suddenly  stumbled  on  one 
another  in  one  of  the  clinics  of  the  town,  I  think  the  Demilt, 
corner  of  Twenty-third  Street  and  Second  Avenue,  where  our 
acquaintance  was  renewed  and  our  friendship  cemented. 

Dr.  Beard  was  a  most  unusual  man.  He  had  a  face  of  al- 
most preternatural  gravity,  but  underneath  this  deep  solem- 
nity of  countenance  there  lurked  such  a  sense  of  humor,  at  times 
subtle  and  elusive  and  again  so  explosive  and  rollicking,  as  to 
amuse,  mystify  or  disturb,  according  to  the  occasion  or  type 
of  mind  affected.  As  was  remarked  of  Jean  Paul  Richter  so 
also  it  may  be  said  of  Beard,  that  at  times,  he  might  be  said 
to  "live,  move  and  have  his  being  in  humor."  Beard  kept  a 
diary  during  his  youthful  years,  from  about  the  age  of  fifteen 
to  his  junior  year  at  Yale.  His  father  was  a  clergyman  (Con- 
gregational), and  George  was  reared  in  all  the  strictness  and 
strait-laced  orthodoxy  of  the  times.  His  daughter  has  per- 
mitted me  to  read  this  diary,  and  a  most  interesting  and  illu- 
minating production  it  is.  It  illustrates  how  the  youthful  soul 
can  be  submerged  in  gloom  and  deprived,  through  a  well-meant 
but  hurtful  theology  of  its  birthright  of  joyous,  helpful  living. 
We  see  a  keen  intelligence  backed  by  high  moral  principles, 
coming  gradually  into  its  heritage  of  rational  living,  but  not 
without  scars.  Inwardly  he  resented  this  long  thraldom,  and 
the  pendulum  which  had  swung  so  long  in  one  direction  made 
an  equal  arc  in  the  other.  While  giving  up  every  vestige  of 
belief  in  the  supernatural,  he  might  have  made  more  of  the 
soul  of  man  and  of  human  emotion  and  sentiment.  Nothing 
seemed  to  interest  him  much  in  literature  or  books  but  pure 
science,  accuracy  of  statement,  mathematical  precision  or  cer- 
tainty. This  is  not  to  say  that  he  had  not  read  deeply  and 
largely  of  the  best  literature  of  the  world.  He  modelled  his 
writings  on  Addison  and  Macaulay.  He  alluded  to  the  well- 
known  saying  that  if  one  aims  to  be  a  master  of  English  let  him 
spend  his  days  and  nights  in  the  study  of  Addison.     He  fol- 


1 84  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

lowed  after  these  masters,  and  became  a  clear,  brilliant,  and 
rapid  writer  unsurpassed  in  his  profession.  He  told  his  story, 
whether  in  the  field  of  legitimate  medicine  or  along  psychic 
lines,  with  the  delightful  facility  of  a  Macaulay.  No  one 
subject  could  hold  him  long  after  it  had  ceased  to  interest 
him — or  after  he  had  taken  from  it  all  he  thought  it  capable 
of  giving. 

In  the  earlier  days  of  Mr.  Edison's  career,  Beard  col- 
laborated with  him  in  investigating  what  at  the  time  seemed 
to  both  of  them  a  strange,  mysterious  manifestation  of  elec- 
tricity, which  was  termed  "etheric  force."  It  led  to  nothing 
practical,  but  his  clever  and  exhaustive  discussion  of  the  sub- 
ject in  the  pages  of  the  New  York  Tribune  was  a  notable  con- 
tribution. In  the  late  seventies  he  coined  the  term  "neuras- 
thenia," and  wrote  his  classic  and  memorable  monograph  on 
that  subject.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  all  the  subsequent 
literature  both  here  and  abroad  on  neurasthenia  is  based  on 
Dr.  Beard's  original  investigations. 

Hypnotism  and  questions  of  psychic  interest  then  engaged 
his  ardent  attention  and  keen,  discriminating  examination, 
when  presently  he  fell  a  victim  to  his  all  too  strenuous  and 
concentrated  labors.  His  contributions  to  the  subject  of  sea- 
sickness and  hay-fever,  his  fascinating  works  on  American 
nervousness,  his  valuable  monograph  on  the  "Legal  Respon- 
sibility of  Old  Age,"  with  innumerable  other  contributions,  all 
more  or  less  original  and  forceful  and  charming  in  tone, 
marked  him  as  a  worker  and  writer  of  an  unusual  order. 
What  he  would  have  achieved  with  a  few  more  years  of  active 
work,  who  can  say? 

To  return  to  the  subject  of  Beard's  intellectual  relation  to 
what  the  world  calls  religion  and  to  dogmatic  theology,  I  re- 
member on  one  occasion  his  saying  to  me,  that  if  now  for  the 
first  time,  he  should  take  up  the  Bible  and  attempt  to  read  it, 
especially  the  Old  Testament,  he  would  be  able  to  make 
neither  head  nor  tail  of  it.  In  a  thoroughly  sober  and  test 
moment  he  would  not,  of  course,  and  could  not,  impeach  the 
greatness  and  grandeur  of  this  book  of  books,  but  it  simply 
illustrates  the  trend  of  his  mind,  his  waning  interest  in  studies 
outside  the  practical  affairs  of  human  thought,  and  his  re- 
bound or  revolt  from  the  hampering  teachings  of  early  days. 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  185 

This  journal  of  his  is  a  sort  of  confessional.  At  the  age  of 
sixteen  he  was  teaching  one  summer  at  Manhasset,  L.  I.  In 
walking  to  church  on  a  beautiful  morning,  he  saw  a  number 
of  pleasure  boats  with  their  happy  occupants.  He  comments  on 
it  as  a  sad  sight,  and  a  sad  commentary  on  human  nature,  and 
all  through  his  journal  he  bewails  his  tendency  towards  "sin- 
ful pleasures"  (ice  cream  parties  and  other  joyful  occasions), 
and  in  other  places  fears  that  he  himself  will  be  a  castaway. 
As  the  years  go  by  there  seems  to  be  a  gradual  relaxation  of 
the  severity  of  his  introspections,  until  finally  in  his  junior 
years  there  occurs  what  may  be  termed  a  halfway  climax  to 
these  questionings.  He  writes  that  it  is  time  for  him  to  get 
to  the  Bible  Study  or  Prayer  Meeting,  which  he  is  to  lead 
and  then  asks  the  question,  "Why  is  it  that  these  meetings  are 
not  better  attended  by  the  brighter  and  quicker-witted  men 
of  the  College?"  Notwithstanding  his  final  views,  many  of 
the  clergy  were  among  his  closest  and  warmest  friends  to  the 
end,  and  his  relations  with  some  of  them  were  as  intimate  as 
were  the  relations  of  that  incorrigible  heretic,  Mark  Twain 
and  his  lifelong  friend,  the  late  Dr.  Twichell,  the  preacher 
of  Hartford.  In  regard  to  the  affair  of  the  soul  and  its 
future,  he  neither  affirmed  nor  denied. 

"The  great  beyond"  was  to  him  "unknown  and  unknow- 
able" in  this  life,  and  when  death  came  he  met  it  as  behooved 
a  philosopher,  with  fortitude  and  serenity.  He  suffered  the 
severest  pain,  but  this  was  not  sufficient  to  disturb  the  clarity 
of  his  judgment  or  to  abolish  his  fellowship  or  sense  of  humor. 
To  an  old  friend  who  came  to  see  him,  he  said,  "Behold  a 
dying  philosopher."  To  a  number  of  physicians,  personal 
friends,  who  were  about  his  bedside,  he  said,  "You  are  all 
good  fellows,  but  you  can't  help  me."  Finally  in  his  last 
moments,  when  almost  beyond  the  power  of  articulation,  he 
faltered,  "Oh,  that  I  had  the  strength  to  write  out  the 
thoughts  of  a  dying  man."  His  funeral  was  held  at  the 
Broadway  Tabernacle,  of  which  the  celebrated  Dr.  Taylor 
was  the  pastor.  His  classmate,  Joseph  Cook,  was  to  have 
officiated,  but  was  unable  to  get  there.  The  pallbearers 
were  Dr.  William  A.  Hammond,  Dr.  Charles  Dana  and  my- 
self among  others.  The  remarks  of  Dr.  Taylor  were  to  my 
mind   cruel   and   reprehensible.      He   said   that  he   was   but 


1 86  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

slightly  acquainted  with  Dr.  Beard,  having  only  met  him 
abroad,  and  remembering  him  as  a  bright  young  man  of  large 
intellectual  activities.  He  spoke  of  his  agnostic  views,  and 
then  in  the  presence  of  his  widow,  child  and  friends,  delivered 
a  sermon  upon  the  fruits  of  infidelity,  with  some  sort  of  the 
same  spirit  in  which  the  term  would  have  been  used  in 
mediaeval  times.  It  was  a  foolish  and  shortsighted  thing  to 
do,  for  Beard  was  no  proselyte  and  did  not  publish  abroad  his 
views  on  these  affairs  of  the  inner  life.  As  much  as  any  man 
I  ever  knew  he  possessed  the  "open  mind"  of  Plato,  ever 
seeking  knowledge,  facts.  He  loved  to  talk,  but  he  loved  to 
listen  equally  well;  in  truth,  he  was  the  best  listener,  for  a 
man  who  had  so  much  to  say  himself,  that  I  ever  knew.  How- 
ever great  the  pressure  of  professional  or  literary  work,  he 
was  always  ready  to  drop  everything  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
versing. It  made  but  little  difference  whether  the  one  with 
whom  he  was  in  communication  was  intellectual  or  the  reverse, 
he  would  listen  as  long  as  anything  was  to  be  said,  and  no 
utterance  of  value  or  striking  manifestation  of  character 
escaped  him.  I  was  often  amused  and  even  amazed  at  the 
patience  and  gravity  with  which  he  would  listen  to  the  most 
trivial  talk,  and  the  most  absurd  expression  of  opinion,  but  I 
soon  learned  that  these  not  infrequently  constituted  the  basis 
of  much  that  was  strong  and  original  in  his  writings.  The 
power  in  him  to  formulate  the  crude  ideas  of  others  seemed 
to  be  instinctive. 

Much  of  the  wide  and  deep  meaning  represented  by  com- 
mon and  constantly  reiterated  expressions,  he  in  some  way 
drew  to  a  point  and  gave  to  it  a  "local  habitation  and  a 
name."  As  has  been  said  of  him,  "he  worked  because  he  loved 
to  work,"  not  as  a  slave  but  as  a  child  filled  with  and  prompted 
by  filial  devotion,  and  in  the  very  hour  of  his  dissolution  he 
expressed  the  hope  that  some  one  would  take  up  his  work  at 
the  point  he  left  it  and  carry  it  forward.  Among  the  many 
illustrations  of  his  devotion  to  work,  I  recall  the  fact  that 
soon  after  the  Civil  War  and  in  the  beginning  of  our  profes- 
sional relationship,  I  observed  among  his  effects  a  pile  of  manu- 
scripts which,  upon  inquiry,  I  found  to  be  a  work  of  fiction, 
written  for  want  of  something  better  to  do  while  serving  as 
contract  surgeon  in  the  Gulf  Squadron.     Parts  of  it  were  very 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  187 

interesting  and  it  contained  many  graphic  descriptions  of  life 
and  character.  He,  however,  regarded  it  as  of  little  account. 
Its  purpose  as  a  vehicle  of  expression  when  there  was  no 
special  work  at  hand  had  been  served,  and  he  allowed  it  to 
become  scattered  and  finally  destroyed. 

Such  was  the  facility  and  accuracy  with  which  his  thought 
struggled  to  the  birth  in  written  language,  that  his  pen  was 
equally  ready  at  his  desk  or  in  train  or  boat,  and  his  manu- 
script seldom  received  a  correction.  But  the  publisher  will 
not  soon  forget,  nor  will  I,  the  sad  havoc  he  made  with  the 
proof-sheets,  in  his  additions  and  emendations,  of  our  joint 
productions.  The  reputation  for  a  certain  eccentricity  which 
was  so  universally  accorded  to  Dr.  Beard,  was  in  great 
measure  due  to  the  element  of  subtle  humor  born  with  him; 
for  between  the  intense  solemnity  of  his  countenance  and  the 
thought  about  to  be  uttered  there  was  often  such  utter  incon- 
gruity that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  stranger  or 
casual  acquaintance  should  look  upon  him  as  something  of  an 
enigma.  For  that  reason  few  men  in  his  profession  have 
been  so  little  understood  (or  rather  more  grossly  mis- 
understood) as  was  Beard.  He  had  his  faults,  as  have  all  of 
us,  but  his  was  one  of  the  most  kindly  and  genial  spirits  that 
went  in  and  out  amongst  us.  During  the  last  year  or  two  of 
his  life  he  was  subjected  to  an  amount  of  abuse,  both  in  public 
and  by  private  communication,  most  unmerited.  This  was 
mainly  due  to  his  presentation  of  the  subject  of  hypnotism 
before  the  sessions  of  the  International  Medical  Congress 
in  England.  His  demonstrations  were  so  original  and  in  a 
way  so  revolutionary  that  the  ire  of  the  English  conservative 
mind  was  instantly  fired,  and  he  was  accused  of  collusion  and 
all  manner  of  dishonest  methods.  This  antagonism  was 
heightened  because  of  a  physical  infirmity,  deafness,  which 
prevented  him  from  understanding  at  the  time  some  things 
that  were  said,  which  resulted  in  his  instant  replies  not  always 
being  effective.  However,  he  always  made  them  powerful 
enough  later  through  the  medical  press.  Amidst  it  all,  how- 
ever, he  was  to  outward  appearances  as  unconcerned  as  if 
every  shaft  were  directed  elsewhere.  Against  those  who 
struck  the  hardest  and  with  the  least  provocation  the  only 
revenge  he  ever  sought  or  wished  was  the  exercise,  at  their 


1 88  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

expense,  of  a  little  of  his  inimitable  and  quaint  humor,  at 
times  not  unmixed,  perhaps,  with  a  shade  of  contempt.  On 
the  other  hand,  tolerance  was  a  notable  characteristic  of  Dr. 
Beard  in  his  estimate  of  the  life  and  work  of  others,  practically 
holding  that  no  character  was  ever  rightly  understood  until  it 
has  first  been  regarded  with  both  tolerance  and  sympathy. 

One  element  of  character  which  contributed  not  a  little  to 
the  antagonism  which  Beard  encountered  was  his  positive- 
ness  of  statement,  which,  in  the  minds  of  many,  could  proceed 
only  from  intense  and  offensive  egotism.  That  Dr.  Beard 
was  egotistic,  in  the  sense  of  placing  a  high  value  on  his  own 
interpretation  of  certain  phenomena  in  physics  and  psychology 
as  against  the  opinion  of  non-experts  in  these  realms  of 
science,  cannot  be  denied.  It  was,  however,  the  egotism  that 
comes  from  the  consciousness  of  a  clearer  and  keener  insight, 
and  no  better  evidence  of  its  inoffensive  character  is  wanted 
than  the  fact  that  those  who  knew  him  most  intimately  found 
nothing  disagreeable  in  the  manner  of  these  expressions  of 
opinion.  As  he  said  of  himself,  "I  never  argue,  I  simply 
assert."  This  was  the  result  partly  of  a  natural  disinclination 
for  polemics,  and  partly  of  a  settled  conviction  that  the  surest 
way  to  establish  the  truth,  as  he  understood  it,  was  boldly 
and  persistently  to  reiterate  it.  Many  instances  could  be  given 
where  those  who  were  in  any  way  placed  in  opposition  to  him 
would  bear  unreserved  testimony  to  the  height  of  his  conceit; 
and  from  their  standpoint,  this  judgment  would  be  correct. 
On  one  occasion  he  was  in  court  giving  testimony  in  favor  of 
the  plaintiff  in  a  suit  for  damages.  The  defendant's  counsel, 
an  astute  lawyer,  after  a  severe  cross-questioning,  in  which 
in  every  way  he  attempted  to  belittle  the  attainments  of  the 
witness,  suddenly  asked  him  if  he  had  not  been  in  Germany 
lately.  He  answered  in  the  affirmative.  "For  the  purpose 
of  study,  I  suppose,"  suggested  the  lawyer.  "On  the  con- 
trary, I  went  there  to  teach,"  was  the  reply. 

At  another  time,  in  a  somewhat  celebrated  trial,  he  had 
been  in  the  witness  stand  several  hours  and  had  sorely  tried 
the  patience  of  the  cross-examiners  by  his  cool  assumption 
of  superior  knowledge,  until  with  heat  one  of  them  finally 
said,  "Then  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  all  authorities  who  differ 
from  you  in  this  matter  are  in  error."  "It  is  to  be  presumed 
that  they  are,"  he  answered. 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  189 

Some  have  said  that  he  sought  notoriety  and  worked  self- 
ishly for  his  own  ends.  In  regard  to  this  I  write  in  remem- 
brance of  the  time,  after  our  separation,  when  impelled  solely 
by  his  ever-restless  instinct  for  research  he  neglected  every 
expedient  of  private  prudence,  for  the  purpose  of  investiga- 
tion along  lines  which  could  in  no  possible  way  bring  in  any 
return,  and  in  this  he  persisted  until  his  practice,  which  was  his 
only  reliance,  was  so  nearly  ruined  that  for  the  time  being  he 
abandoned  it  for  another  field.  He  soon  returned  to  it,  how- 
ever, and  with  what  success  is  well  known.  After  his  death 
there  was  found  among  his  papers  manuscripts  which,  for  a 
better  name,  may  be  called  autobiographical  sketches.  I  refer 
to  them  here  because  they  illustrate  many  phases  of  his  char- 
acter, and  especially  this  tendency  to  humorous  exaggeration 
already  referred  to. 

Anyone  who  knew  Dr.  Beard  with  some  degree  of  intimacy 
was  aware  that  he  seemed  utterly  destitute  of  any  financial 
sense,  so  far  as  any  appreciation  of  the  value  of  money  except- 
ing as  a  present  necessity.  Accordingly  there  were  times  in 
his  earlier  professional  life,  and  occasionally  in  more  recent 
periods,  during  which  he  was  closely  beset  by  clamorous 
creditors.  It  was  during  one  of  these  periods  undoubtedly, 
that  the  portion  of  the  autobiographical  sketch  was  written 
referring  to  the  mutual  relationships  of  debtor  and  creditor. 
It  was  not  intended  for  mortal  eye,  and  evidently  was  dashed 
off  as  a  vent,  in  a  condition  of  unusual  mental  depression.  It 
was  giving  expression  to  the  rather  doubtful  humor  of  the 
situation  that  saved  the  day.  A  more  unique  and  quaintly 
humorous  exposition  of  this  relationship,  I  can  imagine  has 
seldom  been  presented.  From  so  much  that  is  original  and 
rare  it  is  difficult  to  select,  but  here  is  one  brief  extract: 

"I  congratulate  myself  that  few  persons  at  my  time  of  life 
have  succeeded  amid  severe  discouragements  in  honestly 
acquiring  so  admirable  a  band  of  creditors.  In  that  select 
circle  are  found  names  of  whom,  if  the  world  is  worthy,  cer- 
tainly I  am  not.  It  is  truly  worth  all  the  deprivations  and 
obstacles  and  misunderstandings  I  have  encountered  through 
this  vale  of  sorrows  to  have  been  brought  into  such  an  inti- 
mate relationship,  for,  next  to  marriage,  debt  is  the  closest 
of  all  connections,  and  tends  to  make  the  parties  concerned 


1 9o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

thoroughly  acquainted.  It  has  been  said  by  those  who  regard 
themselves  as  wise,  that  you  must  winter  and  summer  with  a 
man  before  you  can  know  him,  but  I  will  recommend  a  shorter 
and  surer  road  to  acquaintanceship — the  getting  in  debt  to  a 
man,  or  allowing  him  to  get  in  debt  to  you.  Such  delicate 
relationships  bring  out,  as  I  have  noticed,  the  finer,  subtler, 
and  least  suspected  qualities  of  human  nature,  that  would 
never  reveal  themselves  to  any  other  test  whatever;  indeed, 
no  man  can  be  said  to  know  himself  until  he  has  been  either 
a  debtor  or  a  creditor. 

"Not  the  least  of  the  charms  of  the  relationship  of  debtor 
and  creditor,  if  one  may  judge  from  his  own  experience,  is  its 
permanence;  in  this  feature  it  is  certainly  superior  to  wed- 
lock, or  any  other  earthly  relation.  Marriages  are  followed 
too  often  by  separations,  divorces,  or  at  least  by  infidelities; 
but  my  creditors  or  their  representatives  are  never  long  away, 
and  they  never  sue  for  a  divorce,  and  are  faithful  unto  death." 

Let  it  not  be  understood  from  this  sketch  that  its  subject 
was  indifferent  to  the  claims  of  others.  His  readiness  further 
on,  when  the  ability  came,  to  meet  these  obligations,  is  a 
sufficient  evidence  to  the  contrary,  and  I  have  alluded  to  this 
somewhat  delicate  matter  that  the  testimony  of  one  who  knew 
him  better  than  most  others  might  be  borne  to  the  essential 
integrity  of  his  character  in  this  respect;  and  while  with  the 
rest  of  mankind  his  imperfections  are  sufficiently  manifest, 
it  is  an  education,  in  this  as  in  all  ages  of  greed  and  gain  and 
backbiting,  to  have  held  communion  with  a  man  who,  so  far 
as  all  outward  evidences  were  concerned,  seemed  altogether 
free  from  envy,  hatred  and  malice. 

Judged  by  many  an  accepted  standard,  he  would  be  readily 
enough  disposed  of  and  consigned  by  self-satisfied  plodders 
to  the  oblivion  appointed  for  all  strange  and  misunderstood 
things,  but  tried  by  the  great  law  of  a  culture  which  leads 
every  man  to  become  what  from  the  beginning  he  was  capable 
of  being,  resisting  all  impediments,  casting  off  all  foreign 
adhesions,  and  showing  himself  at  length  in  his  own  shape  and 
stature,  be  these  what  they  may,  judged,  I  say,  by  this 
standard,  he  represented  to  his  contemporaries  who  under- 
stood him  an  unusually  interesting,  unique  and  lovable  per- 
sonality. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

DURING  my  brief  but  not  uninteresting  experience  as  a 
general  practitioner  of  medicine  I  was  called  one  day 
to  see  a  woman  suffering  evidently  from  an  inflamma- 
tion of  the  brain  or  its  meninges.  I  spent  most  of  the  night 
at  her  bedside.  She  had  all  her  life  been  a  deeply  religious 
woman,  and  of  exemplary  character,  and  yet  in  her  ravings 
she  made  use  of  language  both  profane  and  obscene,  rarely 
equalled  by  the  most  depraved  natures.  To  me  it  is  still  a 
mystery  how  such  perversions  found  lodgment  and  finally 
outward  expression  in  one  whose  nature  was  gentle,  and  whose 
training  and  associations  had  been  unexceptionable.  During 
the  evening  a  fellow  member  of  the  same  church  came  in  to  see 
her.  His  name  was  William  Miller,  Dr.  Miller  by  courtesy. 
I  had  before  heard  of  him  as  a  so-called  "electrician,"  that 
is,  one  who  treats  disease  by  electricity.  I  found  him  a  simple- 
hearted  old  man  of  about  sixty-five  or  seventy,  who  had  a 
great  opinion  of  the  value  of  electricity  in  medical  treatment, 
and  in  the  case  at  hand  he  expressed  with  some  modesty  and 
hesitation  the  opinion  that  a  good  strong  application  of  elec- 
tricity might  be  of  service.  I  was  amused  by  many  of  his 
absurdities  of  statement,  but  was  much  impressed  by  his  evi- 
dent honesty,  and  by  his  large,  yet  crude  and  ill-directed 
experience,  and  naturally  desired  to  know  more  of  his  methods 
in  a  field  at  that  date  but  little  cultivated  by  the  profession. 
I  accepted  his  invitation  to  come  to  his  office  at  914  Broad- 
way to  study  his  cases,  and  see  his  work.  I  saw  evidences  of 
the  good  results  that  followed  his  stereotyped  and  simple 
method  of  application,  for  his  sole  apparatus  consisted  of  an 
ordinary  induction  coil  which,  however,  yielded  a  current  of 
remarkable  smoothness.  Now  this  man  knew  nothing  of 
electrophysiology  and  kindred  departments,  nothing  of  dis- 
ease, pathology  or  practical  therapeutics.  While  he  had  a 
superficial  idea  of  the  effects  of  the  constant  current,  he  had 
never  used  it,  but  had  confined  himself  to  the  use  of  the 
faradic  current.  So  far  as  concerns  scientific  electrothe- 
rapeutics, he  existed  as  a  most  remarkable  example  of  pro- 

191 


i92  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

found  ignorance  and  immense  experience,  associated  with  per- 
fect honesty  of  intention.  He  never  enunciated  an  idea; 
neither  had  he  any  conception  of  the  principle  on  which  he 
worked  and  through  which  he  wrought  cures.  He  was,  how- 
ever, so  thoroughly  the  master  of  the  method  he  invariably 
used,  that  the  truth  of  the  saying,  "that  it  is  not  so  much  elec- 
tricity that  cures  as  the  manner  of  using  it,"  never  seemed 
so  clear  as  when  comparing  his  effective  manipulations  with 
the  awkward,  slipshod  methods  of  others.  In  many  of  his 
cases  unquestionably  the  excellent  results  that  followed  were 
greatly  aided  by  his  powerful  and  skillful  manipulating  proc- 
ess, which  for  all  practical  purposes  was  expert  and  thorough 
massage.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Beard  was  greatly 
interested  in  my  account  of  this  old  man,  with  his  novel 
methods  and  quaint  ways,  and  we  both  visited  him  together, 
again  and  again.  Here  indeed  was  something  new  and  worth 
investigating. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  at  this  date  the  whole  subject 
was  a  veritable  terra  incognita,  and  to  touch  it,  as  one  worthy 
friend  remarked  to  me,  was  to  imperil  one's  professional 
reputation.  In  entering  a  field  so  untried  it  was  very  natural 
that  I  should  desire  the  moral  support  of  men  of  character 
and  standing  in  the  profession.  One  of  our  most  eminent 
surgeons,  Dr.  Willard  Parker,  a  most  kindly  man,  broad  in 
his  views,  and  well  disposed  towards  myself,  said  to  me:  "It 
isn't  worth  your  while — any  old  woman  can  apply  electricity." 
Another  physician  and  former  teacher,  equally  eminent,  and 
an  author  of  great  fame,  Dr.  Austin  Flint,  Sr.,  prematurely 
exclaimed  as  I  began  to  speak  of  the  matter  to  him:  "I  can 
not  lend  my  name  to  any  such  project."  "But  I  do  not  wish 
your  name,"  I  replied.  "I  simply  came  to  tell  you  what  our 
idea  is,  and  to  ask  your  opinion  as  to  the  propriety  of  endeav- 
oring to  develop  the  subject  of  electricity  in  a  legitimate  and 
scientific  way."  He  advised  me  to  keep  on  in  the  regular 
path,  and  not  to  meddle  with  it,  but  let  it  remain  where  it  be- 
longed— in  the  keeping  of  the  charlatans.  And  yet,  notwith- 
standing these  initial  and  somewhat  disconcerting  experiences, 
both  these  fine,  open-minded  men  referred  many  an  interesting 
case  to  me  in  after  years. 

During  all  my  medical  training  I  do  not  recall  that  elec- 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  193 

tricity  was  ever  mentioned  in  connection  with  therapeutics  or 
even  surgery.  All  other  physical  agents,  water,  air,  exercise, 
heat  and  cold  received  due  attention,  but  nature's  most  subtle, 
all  pervasive  and  powerful  principle  remained  absolutely 
neglected,  excepting  by  dishonest  empirics  and  a  few  emi- 
nently worthy  but  uninformed  irregular  practitioners,  like  our 
own  good  friend  Dr.  Miller.  Medical  journals  seldom  re- 
ferred to  it  in  any  way  and  of  American  literature  upon  the 
subject,  with  the  exception  of  Garratt's  ponderous  and  unphil- 
losophic  work  there  was  absolutely  none.  It  was  impossible 
to  obtain  any  form  of  apparatus  for  the  generation  of  the 
galvanic  current,  and  all  our  earlier  efforts  in  this  direction 
were  made  with  the  inconstant,  inconvenient  and  ill-smelling 
voltiac  pile. 

Electricity  was  known  to  be  of  value  in  stimulating  mus- 
cular contractions,  and  paralysis  was  believed  to  be  about  the 
only  condition  for  which  its  use  was  in  any  way  indicated. 
It  seems  that  even  before  this  time,  Beard,  with  his  usual 
curiosity  in  regard  to  every  strange  and  misunderstood  thing, 
had  become  for  a  time  interested  in  the  subject.  While  still 
a  student  at  Yale,  he  had  in  his  own  person  experienced  some 
benefit  from  the  use  of  the  crude  induction  coils  in  the  treat- 
ment of  a  condition  of  persistent  indigestion  and  nervousness. 
He  was,  therefore,  quite  ready  to  co-operate  with  me  in  my 
proposed  investigations.  After  two  years  of  waiting  I  was 
beginning  to  get  a  foothold  in  Harlem,  and  it  required  some 
little  resolution  and  courage  to  burn  my  bridges,  as  it  were, 
and  enter  a  new  and  untried  field.  Then  again  I  had  just 
become  engaged,  and  needed  more  than  ever  to  get  firmly 
established.  To  be  sure,  the  income  for  the  year  had  been 
somewhat  under  $1,000,  yet  it  seemed  to  me  fairly  satisfac- 
tory and  a  precursor  of  improvement  in  the  future.  And  then, 
again,  it  was  somewhat  unconventional  and  perhaps  a  little 
risky  to  become  in  any  way  associated  with  one  who,  however 
honest,  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  profession,  little  better  than  a 
quack.  Most  of  my  money  had  been  used  in  self-support  dur- 
ing the  past  two  years,  and  the  good  Miller,  gratified  that  a 
bona-fide  doctor  should  take  any  interest  in  his  methods,  held 
out  hopes  that  some  of  his  cases  could  be  directed  my  way.  I 
came  to  the  decision  to  break  loose;  and  therefore  took  down 


i94  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

my  shingle  as  a  general  practitioner  and  hired  a  little  room  on 
the  same  floor  with  Miller.  In  this  way  I  had  the  advantage 
of  studying  his  cases,  and  at  the  same  time  getting  some  of 
the  overflow.  The  profits  were  not  very  large,  for  Miller 
received  the  munificent  fee  of  one  dollar  for  each  patient,  and 
I  could  not  well  charge  more.  When  it  is  remembered,  how- 
ever, that  sometimes  his  daily  patients  numbered  twenty-five 
or  thirty,  it  is  readily  understood  that  he  enjoyed  a  comfort- 
able yearly  income. 

An  amusing  incident  occurred  in  connection  with  this  subject 
of  fees.  When  he  first  began  his  irregular  practice,  he  charged 
but  fifty  cents  a  visit.  Miller  was  a  school-teacher  originally, 
and  being  of  a  mechanical  turn  of  mind,  became  interested  in 
the  subject  of  induction  coils.  He  began  to  treat  people  of  his 
acquaintance  for  some  of  their  little  ailments.  By  degrees, 
his  practice  grew,  so  that  he  made  a  business  of  it,  and  finally 
acquired  a  wide  clientele.  The  doctor  himself  thought  his 
fee  was  rather  low,  and  I  urged  him  to  raise  it  to  two  dollars. 
I  confess  to  a  selfish  end  in  this,  because  as  long  as  he  charged 
but  one  dollar  I  could  charge  no  more.  I  pointed  out  the 
fact  that  one  of  his  old  patients,  again  coming  to  him  just 
then,  was  well-to-do,  and  a  good  one  to  begin  on.  With  some 
hesitancy  the  old  gentleman  consented.  She  upon  whom  the 
experiment  was  to  be  tried  came  at  the  appointed  time,  re- 
ceived her  treatment  and  handed  the  doctor  the  usual  fee. 
He  said  somewhat  bashfully  that  he  had  raised  his  price  to 
two  dollars.  The  richly-attired  patient  surveyed  him  curiously 
for  a  moment,  and  thrusting  the  bill  into  his  hand,  said,  "Go 
'long,  take  your  money!"  The  doctor  took  it,  and  that  was 
the  last  attempt  he  ever  made  to  raise  his  fee. 

Most  of  my  practice,  however,  was  unremunerative,  except- 
ing as  it  added  little  by  little  to  the  sum  of  my,  or  I  should 
say  our,  experience.  Beard,  to  be  sure,  did  not  have  his  sign 
up,  but  he  was  as  deeply  interested  as  was  I,  and  might  be 
called  a  silent  partner.  He  was  at  this  time  connected  with 
the  Demilt  Dispensary,  and  it  was  his  function  to  send  as 
many  of  the  charity  patients  as  possible  to  914  Broadway  for 
electrical  treatment  and  experimentation.  And  to  this  day  it 
excites  a  smile  as  I  again  see  Beard  with  his  grave  face  and 
chuckling  interior,  ushering  half  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  un- 
washed into  the  little  office.     In  one  way  we  earned  all  the 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  195 

experience  that  came  to  us,  for  it  was  no  pleasant  job  to  go 
over  the  bodies  of  these  unfortunates.  It  was  a  crude  experi- 
ence, but  we  saw  all  manner  of  cases,  and,  of  course,  kept  a 
detailed  account  of  each,  and  the  results  of  treatment.  Dr. 
Miller  was  getting  old  and  thought  seriously  of  giving  up  his 
work,  and  suggested  that  we  should  purchase  the  good  will  of 
the  business  and  give  him  notes  for  the  sum,  for  we  had  no 
money.  I  suggested  that  he  stay  away  from  the  office  some 
day  and  let  me  manage  the  patients  that  came,  as  an  entering 
wedge.  Alas,  for  human  expectations !  On  reaching  the 
office  that  morning  I  found  half  a  dozen  patients  in  waiting. 
I  explained  to  them  that  Dr.  Miller  could  not  come,  and  that 
I  would  attend  to  his  work.  Without  exception  they  one  by 
one  departed  and  left  me  alone,  and  of  all  the  patients  who 
came  in  that  day  not  more  than  one  or  two  dared  or  cared 
to  trust  themselves  to  the  treatment  of  the  youthful-looking 
substitute.  That  settled  in  my  mind  the  feasibility  of  buying 
the  practice. 

By  this  time  our  experience  had  become  such  that  we  de- 
cided to  give  it  to  the  world,  and  selected  the  New  York 
Medical  Record  as  the  medium  through  which  this  experience 
should  be  disseminated.  The  result  was  a  series  of  five  ar- 
ticles through  a  period  of  two  or  three  months.  We  had 
great  hopes,  for  we  felt  certain  that  nothing  quite  like  these 
papers  had  ever  before  appeared;  but  the  interest  they  excited 
both  here  and  abroad  exceeded  our  fondest  anticipations. 
The  London  Lancet  and  also  one  or  more  of  the  German 
medical  journals  republished  each  article  as  it  appeared;  and 
when  finally  William  Wood  and  Company  issued  the  com- 
bined articles  in  book  form,  its  reception  was  in  the  main 
highly  complimentary.  There  were,  however,  a  few  discord- 
ant notes. 

Among  the  few  the  Edinburgh  Medical  Review  was  both 
humorous  and  unappreciative,  if  not  actually  condemnatory. 
In  making  applications  of  the  faradic  current  to  sensitive 
parts  which  required  but  a  mild  current,  we  explained  our 
method  of  applying  it  through  our  own  person.  No  artificial 
electrode  could  equal  the  hand  in  flexibility  and  ready  adapta- 
tion to  inequality  of  surface  and  in  treating  delicate  women 
and  children,  and  in  all  cases  where  applications  were  to  be 
made  to  the  head,  forehead,  eyes,  face,  and  sensitive  motor 


196  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

points,  the  use  of  the  hand  was  invaluable.  In  making  use  of 
this  method  we  had  observed  that  the  muscles  of  our  own 
arms  had  perceptibly  increased  in  size  and  strength.  In  com- 
menting on  this  passage,  the  Review  went  on  to  say  "notwith- 
standing this  alarming  condition  of  affairs"  (the  enlargement 
of  the  biceps),  "in  consideration  of  the  fact  that  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  rolls  between  us  and  them,  we  shall  not  hesitate  to 
express  our  opinion."  Then  follows  a  slashing  and  destruc- 
tive criticism. 

About  the  same  time  also  we  wrote  a  joint  article  and  sent 
it  to  Albany  to  be  presented  before  the  coming  session  of  the 
State  Medical  Society.  Among  the  committee  which  passed 
upon  all  papers  to  be  read  was  Dr.  Squibb  of  Brooklyn,  the 
noted  drug  manufacturer.  Upon  reading  the  title  he  quickly 
exclaimed:  "What!  are  these  men  regular?"  If  it  had  not 
been  for  the  more  hospitable  minds  of  the  board  it  would 
probably  have  been  rejected.  Not  long  after,  being  in  an 
ambitious  frame  of  mind,  as  Beard  expressed  it,  "to  do  my 
part  in  scientifically  evangelizing  the  world,"  I  conceived  the 
idea  of  presenting  the  subject  in  far-away  Brooklyn.  I  men- 
tioned the  matter  to  that  great  and  liberal-minded  man,  Pro- 
fessor Austin  Flint,  Sr.,  professor  of  the  Practice  of  Medi- 
cine at  Bellevue.  "Certainly,"  he  said,  "I  think  you  should 
do  so.  It  is  a  subject  of  which  the  profession  knows  little  or 
nothing,  and  I  will  give  you  a  letter  to  my  friend,  Dr. 
Squibb." 

Armed  with  this  letter,  in  which  I  was  called  "his  young 
friend,"  I  found  Dr.  Squibb  in  his  great  drug  establishment, 
and  in  person  handed  it  to  him.  He  received  me  coldly,  but  as 
the  letter  was  from  so  great  a  man  as  Dr.  Flint  he  could  not 
actually  kick  me  out,  as  I  felt  no  doubt  he  would  gladly 
have  done.  After  reading  it  he  handed  it  back,  and  with  a 
sour  face  said  that  he  did  not  have  much  to  do  with  that  sort 
of  thing,  and  suggested  that  I  call  on  Dr.  Reese,  as  it  was 
more  in  his  line.  To  Dr.  Reese  I  went,  and  found  a  most 
charming  gentleman.  It  pleased  me  to  hear  that  he  had  known 
of  our  work  and  he  expressed  great  pleasure  at  the  thought 
of  my  telling  them  something  of  which  they  knew  nothing. 
He  said  he  would  bring  the  matter  before  the  Kings  County 
Medical  Society.  When  he  did  broach  the  subject  it  was  im- 
mediately met  by  opposition,  and  the  chief  opponent  was  Dr. 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  197 

Squibb,  who  had  told  me  that  he  had  little  to  do  with  the  mat- 
ter. His  objections  were  that  the  subject  of  electricity  in 
medicine  was  one  in  which  they  could  have  no  interest,  since 
it  was  little  less  than  quackery;  that  it  was  well  known  that 
the  young  man's  chief  aim  was  to  drum  up  practice,  and  finally 
that  they  did  not  need  any  information  from  him. 

Many  years  after  I  did  read  a  paper  before  the  Kings 
County  Medical  Society  by  special  invitation,  but  this  time 
Dr.  Squibb  had  long  been  in  heaven,  and  so  missed  the  oppor- 
tunity of  hearing  it. 

Patients  now  began  to  come  to  us  in  greater  numbers,  re- 
ferred to  us  mainly  by  members  of  the  profession  who  had 
read  our  contributions,  who  had  faith  in  our  integrity,  and 
who  saw  the  reasonableness  of  our  contention.  About  this 
time  Dr.  Beard  received  an  independent  commission  from 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons  to  re-write  a  huge  volume  on  Do- 
mestic Medicine.  He  entered  upon  the  task  with  his  custo- 
mary enthusiasm  and  dogged  industry,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  space  of  time  it  was  completed.  I  aided  him  somewhat, 
but  he  received  the  fairly  generous  sum  that  had  been  offered. 
Some  would  have  placed  it  in  the  bank  for  a  rainy  day.  But 
this  was  against  the  principles  of  Dr.  Beard,  for  with  him 
money  was  a  thing  not  to  be  hoarded  but  to  be  spent.  He, 
therefore,  immediately  announced  his  intention  of  going 
abroad.  I  tried  to  dissuade  him,  but  he  persisted,  saying  with 
much  truth  that  in  visiting  men  of  science  abroad,  and  espe- 
cially those  interested  in  the  work  in  which  we  were  engaged, 
he  would  garner  much  material  that  would  be  of  service  in  the 
writing  of  the  more  comprehensive  treatise  that  we  were  con- 
templating. 

He  was  gone  three  months.  When  he  bade  me  goodbye, 
I  was  treating  a  patient.  When  he  returned  and  unexpectedly 
entered  the  office,  that  identical  patient  was  seated  on  the  stool 
undergoing  treatment.  I  can  see  Beard  now,  with  his  hands 
thrown  up  saying,  "For  the  Lord's  sake,  have  you  been  treat- 
ing that  man  ever  since  I  have  been  gone?"  He  brought 
back  a  lot  of  valuable  information,  but  of  the  eight  hundred 
dollars  that  he  took  with  him  he  had  but  fifty  cents  left, 
no  money  in  the  bank  and  none  coming  to  him.  The  com- 
plications that  ensued  and  how  he  managed  to  surmount  them 
is  another  story. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

ON  October  7th,  1868,  I  was  married  by  Rev.  George 
Corey,  to  Susannah  Landon,  at  the  residence  of  her 
parents,  Fifth  Avenue  and  One  Hundred  and  Twenty- 
fifth  Street.  On  our  bridal  trip  we  went  first  to  Philadelphia 
and  thence  to  Washington.  When  we  arrived  in  Philadel- 
phia we  found  the  city  in  an  uproar.  There  were  marching 
bodies  of  troops,  the  crowds  were  dense,  and  all  traffic  was 
interrupted.  It  was  for  a  moment  a  question  as  to  the  one  for 
whom  these  honors  were  intended,  as  no  recent  event  was  then 
as  auspicious  or  of  so  great  importance  to  myself,  at  least,  as 
my  marriage.  I  soon  learned  that  General  McClellan  was 
in  town,  and  it  was  he  that  the  city  was  honoring.  As  for  my- 
self and  my  bride,  there  was  none  to  greet  us,  and  not  even  a 
cab  to  hire.  It  was  a  long  way  to  the  Continental  Hotel,  for 
which  we  were  destined.  We  pushed  our  way  through  the 
crowds,  I  with  a  heavy  suit  case  in  one  hand  and  an  umbrella 
in  the  other.  Before  we  reached  the  hotel,  we  found  it  neces- 
sary to  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  marching  columns  two  or 
three  times.  McClellan's  quarters  were  immediately  below 
cur  own,  and  in  the  evening  we  were  favorably  located  to  hear 
and  see  all  that  took  place. 

My  old  college  mate,  Rev.  Percy  Browne,  had  at  that 
time  a  pastorate  in  Philadelphia.  As  I  was  registering  he 
accosted  me  and  asked  me  what  I  was  doing  there.  I  told 
him  that  I  was  on  my  wedding  trip  and  invited  him  to  meet 
my  wife.  About  two  years  after,  entering  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel  in  New  York,  I  met  Percy  as  he  was  about  to  register, 
and  on  accosting  him  found  he  was  on  his  wedding  trip.  Sin- 
gular coincidence.  He  invited  me  to  meet  his  wife,  and  so 
the  honors  were  even. 

In  Washington  we  stopped  for  a  few  days  with  the  Bur- 
chells,  cousins  of  my  wife,  who  treated  us  with  true  Southern 
hospitality,  and  it  is  an  interesting  fact  that  in  later  years 
they  extended  hospitality  to  nearly  all  my  children  on  similar 
joyful  occasions. 

We  called  upon   President  Johnson  at  the  White  House. 

198 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  199 

It  was  during  the  impeachment  trial.  The  following  Sunday 
morning,  while  Mr.  Burchell  and  I  were  walking  near  the 
grounds  of  the  Treasury  Building,  he  said,  "There  is  the 
President,  let  us  speak  to  him."  He  knew  him  well  and  I 
was  again  introduced.  The  President  looked  rather  sober, 
since  it  was  a  critical  time,  and  when  Mr.  Burchell  said,  "They 
are  pressing  you  pretty  hard,  Mr.  President,"  he  replied, 
"Pretty  hard,  pretty  hard."  All  honor  to  the  seven  Repub- 
lican senators  who  had  the  courage  and  the  honor,  in  face 
of  threats  and  a  mean  and  senseless  public  obloquy,  to  follow 
the  dictates  of  conscience.  I  am  no  great  admirer  of  Andrew 
Johnson.  He  had  many  faults,  but  he  had  virtues,  too.  He 
was  a  fearless  and  incorruptible  patriot,  true  to  the  Union 
throughout  the  Civil  War,  and  it  would  have  been  disgraceful 
to  have  deposed  him  simply  for  partisan  reasons. 

Returning  to  New  York  at  the  conclusion  of  these  halcyon 
days,  I  again  took  up  my  work  with  hope  and  ardor.  In  my 
more  commonplace  way  I,  too,  had  "vague  yearnings  of  ambi- 
tion," such  as  were  ascribed  to  the  poet  Burns.  Every  youth 
who  is  worth  his  salt  must  have  them,  and  this  fine  prose 
poetry  of  Carlyle  in  reference  to  the  lowly-born  poet  awakens 
answering  response  in  every  heart.  "Dreamy  fancies  hang 
like  cloud  cities  around  him;  the  curtain  of  existence  is  slowly 
rising,  in  many-colored  splendor  and  gloom,  and  the  auroral 
light  of  first  love  is  gilding  his  horizon,  and  the  music  of  song 
is  on  his  path;  and  so  he  walks — in  glory  and  in  joy,  behind 
his  plough  upon  the  mountain  side." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AFTER  the  return  from  the  wedding  trip  we  boarded 
during  the  winter  at  my  elder  brother's,  who  lived 
on  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street.  Old  Harlem 
then  was  a  very  different  affair  from  the  Harlem,  or  no  Har- 
lem, of  to-day.  It  has  long  outstripped  its  village  title,  as  has 
Yorkville. 

Yorkville,  in  the  region  of  Third  Avenue  and  Eighty-sixth 
Street,  like  Harlem,  enjoyed  a  little  community  life  of  its  own, 
and  the  Yorkville  Medical  Society  and  the  Harlem  Medical 
Society  held  the  same  reciprocal  relations  as  any  two  pro- 
vincial societies  of  neighboring  villages  of  the  countryside. 
How  everything  has  changed.  Then  half  a  dozen  physicians 
sufficed  for  the  medical  needs  of  our  Harlem  community. 
Gregory,  Colby,  Brockway,  Shrady,  Farrington,  White — these 
six  were  the  main  dependence  of  the  people  in  times  of  illness; 
and  when  I  first  went  to  Harlem  as  a  student  in  1863  there 
may  not  have  been  quite  so  many.  At  that  time  almost  every- 
body lived  on  the  East  Side,  near  the  Harlem  River,  to  be 
handy  to  the  steamboat  landing  at  One  Hundred  and  Twen- 
tieth Street,  from  which  the  little  steamer  conveyed  the  busi- 
ness men  and  clerks  to  their  daily  labors  in  the  busy  city  so  far 
away.  How  primitive  and  leisurely  it  all  now  seems.  And 
truly  there  was  a  charm  about  it — that  sail  of  ten  miles,  more 
or  less,  every  morning  and  night.  Friends  met  each  other, 
smoked,  played  cards,  joked  and  talked.  Private  residences 
with  spacious  grounds  and  boat  houses  lined  the  banks  of  the 
fine  waterway.  The  eye  rested  only  on  scenes  of  rural  quiet- 
tude.  Today  the  great  city  has  swallowed  the  villages  and 
rural  settlements  that  bordered  the  river.  The  Ghetto  has 
transferred  its  quarters  to  quiet  Harlem.  Almost  every  foot 
of  ground  from  river  to  river  is  covered  with  tenements.  Chil- 
dren crowd  the  sidewalks;  a  foreign  population  is  seen  on 
every  hand  and  a  great  body  of  physicians  whom  no  man  can 
number,  mostly  Israelitish  in  character,  have  taken  the  places 
of  the  old-time  Saxon  and  American  doctors  whom  I  have 
named. 

200 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  201 

Harlem  was  in  those  earlier  days  a  place  of  magnificent 
distances.  We  had  our  sociables  and  entertainments.  We  be- 
longed to  the  Clarendon  set,  and  afterwards  to  the  "Entre 
Nous"  and  in  attending  the  fortnightly  meetings  and  dances, 
we  had  at  times  to  traverse  long  distances,  so  far  apart  were 
some  of  the  houses.  Among  my  friends  were  John  Van 
Orden,  cashier  of  the  newly  founded  Stuyvesant  Bank,  and 
T.  W.  Wightman,  a  lawyer  of  literary  tastes.  At  that  time 
the  Eclectic  Magazine  was  reproducing  an  anonymous  serial 
story  entitled  "Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd."  Wight- 
man  called  my  attention  to  it  as  a  novel  of  unusual  merit,  and 
after  reading  it  I  said  to  him,  "If  George  Eliot  is  not  the 
author  of  the  tale,  then  still  another  literary  light  is  added 
to  the  world's  number."  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Thomas 
Hardy  was  the  writer  and  through  this  book  he  entered  the 
hall  of  fame.  No  book  of  his  that  followed  has  escaped  my 
attention. 

One  morning  in  the  spring  of  1869  I  met  Van  Orden  on  a 
Fourth  Avenue  car  on  his  way  to  the  bank.  Casually  he  re- 
marked, "Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  a  trip  to  Charleston  with 
me?"  I  replied,  "Yes,  if  you  will  pay  the  bill."  "All  right," 
he  answered.  "I'll  do  it."  He  then  explained  that  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  had  been  stolen  from  the  bank,  and  the  thief 
had  been  located  in  Charleston.  The  bank  had  decided  to 
send  Van  Orden,  accompanied  by  the  informer  and  a  detec- 
tive, to  make  the  arrest.  He  said  that  Wightman,  as  the 
attorney  for  the  bank,  would  probably  go,  but  that  he  (Van 
Orden)  would  say  to  the  bank  authorities  that  he  would  like  to 
take  along  a  personal  friend  for  company.  Such  a  request 
seems  very  queer  to  me  now,  but  at  all  events  no  objections 
were  raised  and  that  very  afternoon,  with  hasty  preparation, 
we  started,  the  cashier,  the  attorney  and  the  detective,  the  in- 
former, and  the  friend — that  is,  myself. 

We  reached  Charleston  only  to  find  that  our  game  had  fled 
and  was  living  in  New  York  or  near  by.  We  spent,  however, 
two  or  three  days  in  this  heart  of  the  Confederacy,  and  were 
entertained  right  royally  by  a  jovial  banker  who  was  in  some 
way  interested  in  the  case.  We  visited  the  ruins  of  old  Fort 
Sumter  and  were  hastily  driven  from  the  island  by  a  horde  of 
vicious  mosquitoes;  and  after  accomplishing  nothing  but  the 


202  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

spending  of  a  thousand  dollars  of  the  bank's  money,  more  or 
less,  we  started  home. 

My  wife's  family  were  Methodists,  while  I  was  an  Epis- 
copalian, although  never  very  ardent  in  denominational  activ- 
ities. It  was  a  question  to  which  church  we  should  go.  I 
preferred  the  "historic"  church,  and  Holy  Trinity  had  just 
been  built  on  the  corner  of  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth 
Street  and  Fifth  Avenue.  Its  first  Rector  was  the  Rev.  Mr. 
McVickar,  a  big-souled  man  and  big  in  body.  The  Metho- 
dists had  also  just  completed  a  fine  building  on  the  corner 
of  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-sixth  Street  and  Madison  Ave- 
nue, and  had  called  the  Rev.  Dr.  Henry  B.  Ridgeway  as  its 
first  pastor.  We  went  to  Holy  Trinity  a  few  times  and  found 
Mr.  McVickar  a  bright  and  ready  talker,  and  charmingly 
sociable.  He  belonged  to  the  Low-church  order  in  which  I 
had  been  reared.  He  spoke  readily  without  notes.  Earnest- 
ness and  evangelical  fervor  almost  of  a  Methodistic  type 
marked  his  discourses.  Perhaps  he  was  too  Methodistic  as 
an  Episcopal  clergyman  for  me,  for  I  concluded  to  go  with 
my  wife,  and  take  my  Methodism  unadulterated.  Thereupon 
we  transferred  our  allegiance  to  Dr.  Ridgeway  and  St.  James'. 
Nevertheless,  for  McVickar  I  have  always  felt  the  highest 
esteem  and  admiration.  He  was  a  true  man,  lovable  and  sin- 
cere, and  no  higher  compliment  can  be  paid  him  than  to  state 
that  he  became  the  warm  friend  of  that  great,  broad  apostle 
of  spirituality,  Phillips  Brooks.  McVickar  succeeded  Brooks 
as  rector  of  Holy  Trinity  Church,  Philadelphia,  and  subse- 
quently became  Bishop  of  Rhode  Island.  Both  of  these  great 
and  good  men  are  now  no  more. 

Brooks  and  McVickar,  and  Richardson,  the  eminent  archi- 
tect, were  good  friends  and  were  in  Europe  together  on  one 
occasion.  They  were  in  Germany,  and  this  is  the  story  told  of 
them,  a  story  that  was  printed  in  almost  every  newspaper  of 
the  land.  Some  German,  so  that  story  goes,  was  lecturing  to 
German  audiences  about  America.  He  was  uncomplimentary, 
saying  that  the  Americans  were  even  undersized.  Now  our 
trio  were  all  big  men,  the  shortest  being  six  feet  four.  By 
agreement  they  went  to  one  of  these  lectures,  sitting  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  room.  After  the  lecture  the  great  form 
of  McVickar  arose,  saying  that  he  had  been  somewhat  sur- 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  203 

prised  at  the  statement  of  the  lecturer  that  Americans  were 
undersized,  for,  said  he,  "I  am  an  American  and  perhaps 
there  are  other  Americans  in  this  room."  Thereupon  the 
stately  form  of  Bishop  Brooks  arose  in  his  place,  with  the 
remark,  "I  am  an  American,"  followed  by  the  still  greater 
height  of  Richardson,  repeating,  "I,  too,  am  an  American." 
Some  years  later,  meeting  Bishop  McVickar,  I  referred  to  the 
story.  "Yes,"  he  replied,  "it  is  a  very  good  one,  and  I  wish  it 
were  true,  but  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

RECENTLY,  after  a  lapse  of  years,  I  determined  once 
again  to  visit  old  St.  James'.  We  reached  the  building 
just  before  the  beginning  of  the  service,  and  were 
seated  well  up  to  the  front,  and  by  fortunate  coincidence  in 
the  same  little  pew  to  which  nearly  a  half  century  ago  I 
was  accustomed  to  go  weekly  with  my  wife  and  growing 
family.  Only  a  few  remembered  faces  were  seen,  and  as  my 
eyes  wandered  over  the  familiar  interior  unchanged  through 
all  these  years,  excepting  in  minor  ways,  memory  had  full 
sway.  It  was  easy  to  revive  the  scenes  of  other  days,  and  it 
was  with  deep  emotion  that  I  contrasted  the  past  with  the 
present.  Almost  every  face  was  strange,  but  in  their  stead 
I  visualized  a  multitude  of  the  old  forms  and  faces  that  stood 
forth  as  clearly  as  if  there  in  actual  bodily  presence.  The  old 
pulpit,  how  familiar!  In  it  stood  the  slight  form  with  the 
thoughtful,  scholarly  face  of  the  first  minister  of  the  new  struc- 
ture, the  Rev.  Dr.  Ridgeway.  More  than  any  other  man,  of 
the  rather  long  list  of  succeeding  clergymen,  he  satisfied  my 
spiritual  and  intellectual  needs.  He  was  earnest,  sincere,  log- 
ical, and  at  times  eloquent.  More  than  any  others  that  fol- 
lowed, he  often  caught  a  sorrowful  glimpse,  I  imagined,  of 
the  inadequacy  of  the  doctrines  in  which  he  was  reared  and 
which  it  was  his  duty  to  preach.  His  was  a  sensitive  soul 
and  his  nature  of  the  purest  type,  making  him  not  quite  at 
home  in  the  semi-politico-religious  conventions  of  his  church. 
Fortunately  for  him  and  his  peace  of  mind,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  he  found  relief  from  the  stress  and  strain  of  an  itinerant 
ministry  in  the  presidency  of  a  divinity  school  of  his  denomi- 
nation, in  Evanston,  111.,  where  he  enjoyed  for  the  rest  of 
his  life  the  quiet  dignity  of  intellectual  pursuits.  His  memory 
is  very  pleasant  to  me.  His  successor,  Cyrus  Foss,  was  quite 
another  type  of  man,  and  yet  they  had  for  each  other  a  strong 
friendly  feeling.  Indeed  they  both  came  to  St.  James'  from 
pastorates  at  St.  Paul's,  the  wealthiest  among  the  Methodist 
churches  of  the  city. 

Dr.  Foss  was  a  strong  man,  both  in  intellect  and  will,  and 

204 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  205 

this  combination  made  him  powerful  in  the  conferences  of  his 
church,  and  was  a  stepping  stone  to  its  most  coveted  and 
highest  honors.  He  subsequently  became  president  of  Wes- 
leyan  University,  and  finally  a  bishop.  His  preaching  was 
uniformly  good  and  he  had  eloquent  periods. 

Apropos  of  this,  I  recall  that  when  he  was  about  to  leave 
St.  James'  for  the  college  he  called  at  my  office,  and  rather  to 
my  astonishment,  and  with  a  prefatory  remark,  commenda- 
tory of  my  intelligence  as  a  listener  he  asked  for  my  opinion 
as  to  his  merits  or  deficiencies  as  a  preacher.  Here  was  a 
poser — asking  me,  a  young  fellow,  to  pass  upon  the  proficiency 
or  deficiency  of  a  much  older  man  distinguished  in  his  calling. 
I  do  not  remember  all  I  said,  but  I  do  remember  to  have 
said,  in  comparing  him  with  his  friend  and  my  friend,  Dr. 
Ridgeway,  that  while  the  latter,  on  occasion  of  inspiration, 
which  came  all  too  unfrequently,  could  rise  to  heights  of  stir- 
ring eloquence  reached  by  but  few  whom  it  was  my  fortune 
to  hear,  he  (Foss),  on  the  other  hand,  was  more  uniformly 
satisfactory,  seldom  falling  below  a  high  degree  of  excellence. 
The  vigorous  body  of  Foss,  and  his  optimistic  temperament, 
kept  him  on  a  pretty  high  level,  while  dear  Ridgeway  was 
at  the  mercy  of  varying  moods  of  mental  and  physical  depres- 
sion. I  remember  that  some  time  before  his  pastorate  at  St. 
James'  was  ended  and  while  his  next  destination  was  unknown, 
gloom  and  depression  marked  his  attitude.  Some  little  financial 
difficulty  also  had  occurred,  and  in  speaking  of  both  to  me 
he  said  in  mournful  tones  that  the  future  looked  rather 
dark  to  him. 

Another,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry  Baker,  who  came  later,  more 
nearly  approached  the  standard  of  the  two  former  than  any 
of  the  others  that  followed.  In  gentleness  of  disposition  and 
kindly  tolerance  he  more  resembled  Ridgeway  than  any  of 
the  others.  He  was  a  very  good  preacher,  too.  His  gentle 
and  retiring  nature  gave  him  no  taste  for  polemics,  and,  like 
Ridgeway,  unfitted  him  for  the  rough-and-tumble  debates  of 
church  conferences. 

I  ought  to  speak  of  Rev.  George  H.  Corey,  who  really  pre- 
ceded Dr.  Ridgeway,  although  he  was  never  really  pastor 
of  St.  James'.  He  was  pastor  of  the  old  wooden  structure, 
which  is  now  perched  high  in  the  air  at  the  corner  of  Lexing- 
ton Avenue  and  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street,  just 


206  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

before  the  congregation  moved  into  the  new  structure  and  the 
name  "125th  Street  Methodist  Episcopal  Church"  changed  to 
the  more  fashionable  "St.  James'  "  with  its  new  vested  choir 
and  ambitious  appurtenances.  Corey  was  a  character,  and  I 
shall  always  remember  him  with  kindly  gratitude  because  he 
performed  my  marriage  service.  He  was  a  tall,  bold,  imperi- 
ous sort  of  a  man,  and  a  good  companion  in  spite  of  his  ego- 
tism. He  possessed  a  vigorous  mind,  and  his  written  dis- 
courses were  often  strong  and  to  the  point.  But  his  voice 
was  harsh,  not  specially  well  modulated,  and  his  delivery  was 
not  specially  graceful.  His  opinions  were  given  dogmatically 
and  yet  he  was  hospitable  to  differences  of  opinion.  In  his 
earlier  days  he  was  fond  of  fast  horses,  and  if  he  had  not 
chosen  the  ministry  he  would  have  enjoyed  the  racetrack.  I 
once  heard  him  rather  briefly  summed  up  by  that  old  war- 
horse  of  theological  discussion,  Rev.  Dr.  Daniel  Curry. 
After  hearing  Corey  preach  the  good  old  doctor  said:  "I 
rather  like  Corey,  and  if  he  would  get  religion  he  would  be 
all  right." 

In  his  own  conference,  partly  perhaps  because  of  character- 
istics already  noted,  he  failed  to  receive  due  recognition,  and 
was  shoved  into  an  unimportant  charge,  not  at  all  to  his  liking. 
Subsequently,  however,  through  the  influence  of  the  noted 
preacher  John  P.  Newman,  the  friend  of  General  Grant, 
Corey  was  called  to  succeed  Newman  as  pastor  of  the  famous 
Metropolitan  Church,  at  Washington.  This  was  a  piece  of 
great  good  fortune  for  him. 

Rev.  Wesley  R.  Davis  followed  Dr.  Foss  in  the  ministry  at 
St.  James'.  He  had  an  engaging  personality.  Scrupulously 
neat  in  dress,  with  great  fluency  of  speech,  and  in  the  pulpit 
especially  impressive,  solemn  at  times  even  to  the  point  of 
gloom,  he  became  the  center  around  which  many  of  the  women 
of  his  congregation  worshipped  in  ecstatic  admiration.  After 
leaving  St.  James'  he  succeeded  George  H.  Hepworth  as  min- 
ister of  a  Congregational  church  of  large  membership.  Sub- 
sequently he  went  to  Albany  as  pastor  of  a  Dutch  Reformed 
Church  there. 

After  Davis  in  the  pastorate  of  St.  James'  came  Rev. 
Dr.  James  M.  King.  He,  too,  was  no  ordinary  man.  As  a 
preacher  I  never  found  him  very  interesting.     His  sermons 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  207 

were  generally  read  and  were  more  like  formal  essays,  but  in 
debate  and  in  expressions  of  opinion  he  was  all  but  resistless. 
His  likes  and  dislikes  were  equally  strong.  He  was  a  good 
liker  and  a  good  hater.  If  in  trouble  and  in  need  of  a  de- 
fender, fortunate  he  who  had  Dr.  King  on  his  side.  As  he  was 
both  strong  and  fearless  and  full  of  color,  every  man  knew 
just  where  he  stood,  and  as  he  was,  it  must  be  confessed, 
opinionated  and  aggressive,  he  excited  intense  opposition.  In 
other  words,  he  was  not  a  little  lacking  in  tact,  and  so  opposing 
forces  in  the  church  conferences  grew,  and  he  missed  the  prize 
for  which  all  good  Methodists  who  are  in  any  degree  eligible 
are  always  fighting,  a  bishopric.  We  were  very  good  friends, 
indeed,  and  I  have  often  wondered  why  so  many  of  these  fine 
men  were  such  excellent  friends  of  mine,  especially  as  I  was 
never  active  in  any  sort  of  church  work,  and  indeed  differed 
radically  from  these  friends  along  the  line  of  beliefs  and 
creeds.  As  an  illustration,  my  friend  Ridgeway,  of  whom  I 
thought  so  highly  and  who  was  a  far  older  man,  once  said  to 
me,  "Doctor,  why  don't  you  mingle  with  us  more  in  the  prayer 
meetings,  church  work,  etc?"  My  reply  was,  "Dr.  Ridge- 
way, when  you  get  to  know  me  better  you  will  find  the  answer 
without  asking  for  it."  And  yet  after  that  we  were  even  bet- 
ter friends  than  ever,  if  it  were  possible,  for  when  he  went 
abroad  to  the  Holy  Land  for  a  rest  and  to  gather  material  for 
his  big  book,  "The  Lord's  Land,"  he  left  me  in  charge  of  his 
pet  society,  the  "Arigon,"  the  one  literary  feature  of  the  par- 
ish, and  wrote  me  some  beautiful  letters  during  the  course  of 
his  travels.  How  these  preachers  and  teachers  of  the  old  St. 
James'  came  and  went. 

Following  Dr.  King  came  Drs.  Vail,  Tiffany,  Baker  (of 
whom  I  have  already  spoken),  Price,  Haynes,  and  Tipple. 
Dr.  Tiffany  was  one  of  the  big  men  of  the  church,  famed 
for  his  eloquence  and  impressive  presence,  and  thought  by 
many  to  be  fit  timber  for  the  bishopric.  How  grand  he  was  as 
he  stood  in  the  pulpit  and  as  Sydney  Smith,  expressed  it,  "six 
feet  above  criticism,"  hammering  in  the  dogmas  of  the  church. 
He  believed  that  every  word  in  the  good  old  Bible  was  di- 
rectly inspired  by  God,  and  regarded  it  as  a  desecration  and 
irreverence  if  anybody  presumed  to  walk  up  the  aisle  when  it 
was  being  read. 


208  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

As  I  sat  that  day  in  our  old  pew  listening  half-heartedly 
to  the  strange  man  in  the  pulpit,  with  thought  dwelling  on 
the  past  rather  than  the  present,  my  memory  claimed  free 
range.  Dreamily  I  repeopled  the  scenes  of  long  ago  and  in 
every  pew  saw,  as  in  a  vision,  familiar  faces — the  gray  heads 
and  bowed  forms  of  age,  those  in  middle  age,  and  others  in  the 
proud  strength  of  early  manhood,  and  well-remembered  faces 
of  boys  and  girls.  In  the  pulpit  I  recognized  now  the  gentle 
face  of  the  well-beloved  Ridgeway,  the  virile  form  of  Foss, 
and  all  the  others  who  for  a  time  followed  and  held  sway, 
and  as  one  after  another  I  recalled  them  and  the  long  list  of 
those  who  listened  in  the  pews,  reflecting  that  the  greater  num- 
ber had  gone  to  that  bourne  from  which  no  traveler  returns, 
I  bethought  myself  of  Bryant's  noble  lines : 

"A  mighty  hand  from  an  exhaustless  urn 
Pours  forth  the  never  ending  flood  of  years 
Among  the  nations.     How  the  rushing  waves 
Bear  all  before  them  on  the  foremost  edge, 
And  there  alone  is  Life.     The  present  there 
Tosses  and  foams,  and  fills  the  air  with  roar 
Of  mingled  noises.    There  are  they  who  toil, 
And  they  who  strive,  and  they  who  feast  and  they 
Who  hurry  to  and  fro.     The  sturdy  swain — 
Woodman  and  delver  with  the  spade,  is  there — 
And  busy  artisan  beside  his  bench — 
And  pallid  student  with  his  written  roll, 
A  moment  on  the  mounting  billow  seen, 
The  flood  sweeps  over  them  and  they  are  gone." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

MY  partnership  with  Dr.  Beard  continued  eight  years. 
We  worked  together  harmoniously  in  the  main,  which 
speaks  rather  well  for  both  of  us,  for  Beard  was  a 
sort  of  a  genius,  while  I  was  rather  commonplace  and  matter 
of  fact.  Beard  had  no  idea  of  values  in  some  of  the  practical 
concerns  of  life.  He  bought  numerous  books  in  the  pursuit 
of  our  joint  investigations,  and  others  for  his  own  special  pur- 
poses, many  of  which  were  charged  to  the  firm.  What  was 
my  surprise,  in  glancing  over  these  books  one  day,  to  find  not 
a  few  of  them  mutilated  here  and  there.  When  Beard  wished 
to  quote,  instead  of  copying  the  quotation,  he  would  clip  the 
extract  and  paste  it  in,  thus  destroying  not  a  few  valuable 
books.  He  found  no  fault  with  my  protest  against  this,  and 
agreed  that  all  such  purchases  should  be  in  our  individual 
names  thereafter.  He  had  assumed  obligations  for  books  at 
a  certain  publisher's  which  he  found  it  not  easy  to  meet. 
Finally,  tired  with  the  non-success  of  the  ordinary  collectors, 
a  member  of  the  firm,  or  one  high  in  its  councils,  came  in 
primed  for  the  encounter,  and  determined  to  settle  the  matter 
then  and  there. 

Beard  was,  as  usual,  writing  when  the  gentleman  entered, 
and  without  giving  him  time  to  state  his  business,  rose  and 
greeted  him  with  great  effusion,  telling  him  how  glad  he  was 
to  see  him,  etc.  When  the  man  had  a  chance  to  get  in  a  word, 
with  some  severity  he  made  known  his  errand.  Beard  was 
even  then  a  little  deaf,  although  he  could,  as  a  rule,  hear 
pretty  well  when  he  so  desired.  With  hand  behind  his  ear 
he  affected  to  misunderstand  the  purpose  of  the  remarks,  and 
made  an  altogether  irrelevant  reply.  The  man  repeated  it 
with  growing  asperity,  and  Beard,  all  this  time  with  hand  at 
ear,  replied  that  he  had  no  complaint  to  make;  that  the  firm 
had  always  served  him,  that  he  should  continue  to  buy  his 
books  there  and  would  recommend  them  to  his  friends.  Thus, 
at  cross  purposes,  the  dialogue  was  kept  up  for  some  time,  the 
collector  with  increasing  heat  pressing  his  claim  and  Beard, 
with  that  look  of  vacancy  on  his  face,  which  he  knew  so  well 

209 


210  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

how  to  assume,  failing  seemingly  to  understand.  Finally  the 
exasperated  collector  started  for  the  door  with  great  disgust 
depicted  on  his  face.  Beard  followed,  insisted  on  shaking 
hands  with  him,  asked  him  to  come  again,  saying  that  he 
remembered  that  he  owed  a  trifling  bill  for  books,  and  in 
due  time  would  pay  it,  which  he  failed  not  to  do. 

In  due  course  we  found  ourselves  at  122  Madison  Avenue. 
At  this  time  Beard  had  an  office  in  Brooklyn,  where  he  spent 
the  morning,  coming  to  the  New  York  office  in  the  afternoon. 
For  some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  he  announced  his  in- 
tention of  spending  his  morning  hours  at  the  New  York  office. 
To  this  I  strenuously  objected,  and  very  naturally,  since  we 
both  could  not  well  hold  office  hours  in  the  same  room  at  the 
same  time.  He  persisted,  when  I  suggested  that  rather  than 
that,  we  had  better  separate.  Beard  said,  "All  right,"  and 
the  affair  was  settled  then  and  there,  Beard  taking  an  office 
in  Thirty-seventh  Street.  We  were  paying  $1,600  a  year 
for  this  office,  which  I  regarded  too  much  for  my  shoulders 
then;  I  rented  the  use  of  it  at  the  odd  hours  to  a  young 
physician  named  Du  Bois,  who  had  recently  been  an  interne 
at  the  Woman's  Hospital,  with  which  I  was  connected.  He 
was  a  natty,  amiable  young  man  with  some  monetary  re- 
sources, and  was  to  sleep  in  the  office,  getting  his  meals  out- 
side. He  did  not  like  it,  and  before  he  had  been  there  a 
month  decided  to  give  up  the  arrangement.  We  settled  the 
matter  amicably  between  us  and  he  left  with  no  hard  feelings 
on  either  side. 

I  have  stated  that  Dr.  Beard  and  I  had  concluded  to  sepa- 
rate. This  was  in  1876  after  a  harmonious  partnership  of 
eight  years.  On  my  part  it  was  done  with  regret,  since  I  had 
a  high  conception  of  the  abilities  of  my  friend  and  partner, 
and  believed  it  to  be  advantageous  to  me,  if  not  to  him,  to 
keep  together.  At  all  events,  the  die  was  cast,  and  we  parted 
the  best  of  friends.  Looking  back  at  it  all,  the  subsequent 
quarrel  and  brief  estrangement  seem  thoroughly  foolish  and 
unnecessary.  The  first  edition  of  our  book  had  sold  well, 
both  here  and  in  England,  and  had  been  translated  into  Ger- 
man, as  was  the  case  with  our  first  and  smaller  book  entitled 
the  "Medical  Use  of  Electricity."  The  larger  work  we 
called   by   the   more   ambitious   title    of    "The    Medical    and 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  211 

Surgical  Uses  of  Electricity,  including  Localized  and  General 
Faradization,  Localized  and  Central  Galvanization,  Frank- 
linization, Electrolysis  and  Galvano  Cautery."  The  second 
edition  was  now  going  through  the  press,  and  as  we  were 
no  longer  in  the  same  office,  the  proof  sheets  were  first  sent 
to  Beard,  and  after  correcting  them  he  sent  them  to  me,  or 
vice  versa,  as  the  case  might  be.  Now  for  some  rea- 
son or  other,  he  seemed  to  think  that  he  had  originated  more 
than  I,  and  suggested  that  in  alluding  to  things  that  had  been 
done,  instead  of  saying,  "we"  it  should  be  written  "Dr.  Beard" 
or  "Dr.  Rockwell"  had  done  this  or  that.  Although  not 
favorable  to  it,  I  agreed,  and  the  fun  began.  We  very  fre- 
quently disagreed  as  to  where  the  credit  should  be  placed. 
Where  I  had  written,  "Dr.  Rockwell"  he  would  erase  it  and 
write  "Dr.  Beard,"  to  whom  he  thought  the  credit  belonged, 
and  I  in  my  turn  would  re-erase  and  so  the  unseemly  conflict 
ran  on  to  the  disgust  of  the  printer,  and  to  the  detriment  of 
our  pockets.  William  Wood  &  Co.,  the  publishers,  had 
limited  the  amount  of  our  corrections  to  four  hundred  dol- 
lars or  some  such  sum.  This  was  ample  for  all  reasonable 
corrections,  but  our  contentions  raised  the  bill  to  eight  hun- 
dred, thus  costing  us  four  hundred  dollars  for  our  little  by- 
play. This  is  but  a  single  illustration  of  what  foolish  things 
men  will  do  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  when  seeking  the  bubble 
(too  often  only  a  bauble)  called  reputation  or  fame.  Dr. 
Beard  is  long  dead,  and  the  little  things  that  we  contended  for 
were  not  worth  the  price,  and  the  reputation  of  neither  of  us, 
such  as  it  is,  would  have  been  influenced  one  way  or  the 
other,  whichever  name  went  into  print.  At  the  time,  however, 
so  spirited  and  intense  became  the  conflict  that  I  wrote  my 
old  friend  the  severest  sort  of  a  letter.  I  then  thought  myself 
justified,  and  think  so  still,  but  the  way  Beard  took  it  well 
illustrates  the  abounding  amiability  of  his  nature.  He  did  not 
answer  the  letter,  but  when  our  animosity  had  somewhat  sub- 
sided and  some  sort  of  a  "rapprochement"  had  been  estab- 
lished, he  said  in  a  good-humored  sort  of  a  way,  "Whatever 
possessed  you  to  write  me  such  a  letter?" 

We  remained  good  friends  ever  after.  And  now  comes  a 
very  interesting  episode  in  the  life  of  Beard,  relating  in  some 
measure  to  myself  as  well.     Although  our  book  subsequently 


212  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

went  through  eleven  editions,  and  was  an  unqualified  success 
in  many  ways,  this  second  edition  fell  rather  flat.  The  sales 
halted,  and  were  not  great,  and  altogether  it  seemed  as  if  the 
profession  had  lost  all  faith  and  interest  in  the  subject  of 
electrotherapeutics.  My  practice  fell  off  greatly,  and  Beard, 
as  I  clearly  saw  in  my  occasional  visits  to  his  office,  had  but. 
little  to  do.  I  shall  never  forget  the  year  that  shortly  followed 
our  separation,  and  Beard  had  equal  cause  to  remember  it, 
for  it  was  during  this  period  of  depression  that  he  wrote  those 
inimitable  sketches  regarding  his  finances  and  his  lecturing  ex- 
periences, to  which  I  have  already  alluded.  It  was  during  the 
winter  when  money  was  most  needed  that  there  was  the  great- 
est dearth  of  it. 

For  five  long  months  my  wife  was  bedridden,  subsequent 
to  the  birth  of  our  daughter.  Expenses  increased,  but  my 
practice  so  fell  off  that  I  was  compelled  to  borrow  to  make 
both  ends  meet.  I  think  I  may  say  this  much  for  myself,  how- 
ever, that  during  that  winter  of  depression  and  gloomy  out- 
look, with  four  little  ones  and  a  sick  wife  dependent,  I  did 
not  lose  my  courage,  but  kept  a  serene  front  before  my  family. 
It  was  at  this  turn  of  affairs  that  Beard  in  even  greater  straits 
called  upon  me,  proposing  to  sell  his  interest  in  our  book, 
upon  which  we  had  toiled  so  long  and  faithfully.  Discour- 
aged by  lack  of  business  and  the  apparent  failure  of  its  second 
edition,  he  announced  his  intention  of  abandoning  the  profes- 
sion of  medicine  and  entering  the  arena  as  a  popular  lecturer 
on  scientific  subjects;  in  a  word,  to  bring  science  to  the  level  of 
the  average  or  common  mind.  His  humorous  idea  was  that 
to  interest  the  public  and  draw  audiences,  three  things  were 
necessary:  first,  stories;  second,  splurge;  third  and  most  im- 
portant, absence  of  thought!  He  asserted  that  to  try  to  make 
people  think  would  be  a  deadly  obstacle  to  popular  success. 

"But,"  said  I,  with  friendly  frankness,  "You  do  not  possess 
the  necessary  qualifications  for  what  you  propose  to  do.  In 
the  first  place  you  have  not  a  good  voice  and  are  not  a  grace- 
ful speaker.  You  might  tell  stories,  but  it  is  foreign  to  your 
nature  to  'splurge,'  and  as  for  absence  of  thought,  you  have 
too  much  of  it  in  your  make-up  to  assume  otherwise.  Be- 
sides," I  continued,  "what  is  the  use  of  getting  discouraged? 
Things  will  pick  up  and  the  book  with  it."     Beard's  idea  was 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  213 

to  have  some  sort  of  a  stereopticon  and  by  showing  things 
upon  the  screen,  to  interest  the  eye  and  to  adapt  his  explana- 
tions to  the  understanding  of  the  average  mind.  "Then 
again,"  I  went  on,  "I  shall  want  your  assistance  in  getting 
out  subsequent  editions  of  the  work,  if  any  are  called  for." 

He  replied  that  he  had  never  really  cared  for  the  details  of 
the  practice  of  medicine.  Temperamentally  he  was  unsuited 
for  it,  and  this  seemed  to  be  the  time  to  make  a  change. 
"But,"  said  I,  "even  if  I  wanted  to  buy  you  out,  how  am  I 
to  do  it?  I  haven't  any  money  and  have  been  compelled  to 
borrow  from  home  to  meet  expenses."  It  is  unnecessary  to 
enter  into  further  explanations.  The  result  was  that,  because 
of  urgent  pleadings  and  under  protest,  I  managed  to  raise  a 
small  sum  and  the  book  became  mine.  I  took  the  risk  of 
having  on  my  hands,  if  not  an  elephant,  yet  something  of 
little  value.  For  months  subsequently  there  were  few  calls 
for  the  work  and  it  seemed  that  I  had  paid  the  doctor  all, 
if  not  more  than  it  was  worth,  when,  little  by  little,  the  sales 
began  to  pick  up.  I  continued  from  time  to  time  my  contri- 
butions to  the  medical  press,  and  others  became  interested  and 
the  edition  was  finally  all  sold.  The  reviving  interest  called 
for  a  third  edition  and  then  a  fourth,  until  now  eleven  editions 
stand  to  its  credit,  and,  although  out  of  print,  superseded  by 
other  and  later  productions,  it  had  a  career  that  one  can  be 
rather  proud  of.  In  the  number  of  years  that  it  stood  the 
test,  nearly  forty,  it  has  been  matched  by  few  purely  medical 
treatises,  and  in  its  time  both  here  and  abroad  was  accepted 
as  standard. 

But  to  return  to  Beard  and  his  lecturing  experiences,  than 
which  nothing  can  be  more  interesting  or  delightfully  humor- 
ous, as  he  recounted  them  in  a  long  paper,  found  after  his 
death  with  other  unpublished  articles.  Beard  chose  Harlem, 
where  I  was  then  living,  as  the  place  of  his  first  adventure. 
He  hired  a  small  hall  on  Third  Avenue,  capable  of  holding 
one  hundred  and  fifty  people.  I  tried  to  help  and,  of  course, 
was  promptly  on  hand.  I  had  even  persuaded  the  clergyman 
of  the  church  that  I  then  attended  to  announce  the  lecture 
from  the  pulpit.  I  found  Beard  alone,  with  the  caretaker 
and  doorkeeper  combined  in  one.  Eight  o'clock  came,  but 
no  audience.     Ten  minutes  more,  and  still  no  one.     At  this 


2i4  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

moment  a  small  boy  entered  and  shyly  took  the  rearmost  seat. 
Surveying  the  scene  and  without  emotion,  Beard  calmly  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  beginning  the  lecture.  When  he  began 
he  had  an  audience  of  three;  the  janitor,  myself,  and  the  small 
boy;  when  he  closed,  after  an  hour  of  conscientious  delivery, 
there  were  two;  the  boy,  soon  becoming  discouraged,  had 
slipped  quietly  out.  Nothing  daunted,  Beard  went  from  place 
to  place  for  some  months,  encouraged  here,  disappointed 
there;  but  on  the  whole  it  was  a  desperately  losing  game, 
which  he  was  at  last  compelled  to  acknowledge.  His  humor- 
ous exaggerated  account  of  these  experiences,  found  among 
his  papers  after  his  death,  is  a  curious  compound  of  phil- 
osophy and  fun. 

Returning  to  his  profession,  prosperity  turned  his  way,  and 
was  in  its  full  tide  when  quick  death  overtook  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

IN  the  early  seventies  I  first  met  that  great  gynecologist  and 
surgeon,  J.  Marion  Sims,  the  founder  of  the  Woman's 
Hospital  in  the  State  of  New  York.  He  sent  me  a  number 
of  patients  to  whom  my  treatment  was  of  some  service,  when 
one  day,  meeting  me  on  the  street,  he  said,  "I  have  been  tell- 
ing the  Medical  Board  of  the  hospital  that  we  are  all  behind 
the  times;  that  our  patients  should  have  the  benefits  of  elec- 
trical treatment,"  and  he  asked  if  I  would  accept  the  position 
of  electrotherapeutist  of  the  institution.  This  was,  I  im- 
agine, the  first  appointment  of  this  nature  in  this  country,  and 
without  hesitation  I  accepted.  For  many  years  I  did  faithful 
work  there,  going  two  or  three  times  a  week  and  treating  a 
multitude  of  patients.  It  was,  of  course,  without  remunera- 
tion, as  are  most  hospital  positions,  and  sometimes  I  found  it 
an  irksome  grind.  Besides  Sims,  the  surgeons  were  Thomas 
Addis  Emmet,  T.  Gaillard  Thomas  and  Nathan  Bozeman. 
Very  little  attention  was  paid  to  me  or  to  my  work  by  these 
men,  or  the  assistant  surgeons,  or  the  young  house  surgeons. 
I  think  they  all  looked  at  it  very  much  in  the  light  of  a  harm- 
less fad  and  with  good-natured  tolerance,  all  except  Sims, 
who  was  the  most  discerning  and  far-seeing  man  on  the  board. 
The  patients,  at  least,  soon  found  out  how  much  relief  this 
form  of  treatment  often  afforded  their  multifarious  neurotic 
systems  and  conditions  of  pain,  and  I  had  plenty  to  do  and 
gained  much  valuable  experience. 

During  the  latter  part  of  my  connection  with  the  Woman's 
Hospital  an  important  medical  event  occurred  which  was 
largely  instrumental  in  finally  severing  my  connection  with 
the  institution.  As  the  subject  was  widely  discussed  at  the 
time,  as  much  so  abroad  as  here,  it  is  worth  the  telling.  Ec- 
topic gestation  or  extra-uterine  pregnancy  is  not  of  common 
occurrence,  but  it  is  so  serious  in  its  nature  that  without  prompt 
recognition  and  surgical  interference  it  becomes  surely  fatal. 
One  morning  a  messenger  hurriedly  entered  my  office  and  said 
that  I  was  wanted  at  the  house  of  Dr.  George  Peters.  Re- 
pairing there  I  found  Dr.  Peters,  his  young  partner,  Dr.  Mc- 

215 


216  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

Burney  (to  become  later  the  famous  surgeon),  and  the  already 
famous  T.  Gaillard  Thomas,  and  Thomas  Addis  Emmet.  Dr. 
Thomas  seemed  to  be  in  charge,  and  the  case  was  one  of 
ectopic  gestation.  It  seemed  that  an  immediate  operation  had 
been  decided  upon,  the  patient  being  a  daughter  of  Dr.  Peters. 
Indeed,  the  instruments  were  all  in  position,  and  everything  in 
readiness.  At  the  last  moment  Dr.  Thomas  bethought  himself 
of  electricity,  remembering  that  a  single  case  had  been  thus 
treated  some  years  before  in  Philadelphia.  I  had  heard  noth- 
ing of  this,  nor  did  I  then  know  that  as  early  as  1853,  Bachetti, 
in  Italy,  and  in  1866,  Hicks  in  England,  had  each  treated  a 
case.  Explaining  the  situation,  Dr.  Thomas  asked  me  if  I 
thought  it  possible  to  destroy  the  foetal  life,  then  in  the  third 
month.  I  answered  that  I  thought  it  not  only  possible,  but 
highly  probable.  When  he  asked  me  whether  it  could  be  done 
without  injury  to  the  patient,  I  felt  a  greater  hesitancy  and 
sense  of  responsibility,  but  finally  replied  that  I  believed  that 
it  could  be  done  with  perfect  security. 

I  sent  to  my  office  for  a  powerful  galvanic  apparatus,  and 
the  treatment  immediately  administered  was  entirely  success- 
ful. Several  other  similar  cases  quickly  followed,  some  of 
them  in  the  practice  of  Dr.  Thomas  himself. 

Months  passed,  and  seeing  no  account  of  the  new  procedure 
in  the  medical  press,  I  conceived  the  idea  of  writing  it  up  my- 
self, and  called  on  Dr.  Thomas  for  his  approval,  but  he  rather 
curtly  announced  that  he  proposed  to  do  it.  At  the  annual 
meeting  of  the  American  Gynecological  Association  he  related 
the  cases,  naming  me  as  having  used  the  electricity.  Other 
cases  came  my  way.  The  new  procedure  was  exciting  wide 
interest,  and  so  I  wrote  an  article  for  the  New  York  Medical 
Record,  entitled,  "The  Successful  Treatment  of  Extra-Uterine 
Pregnancy,"  in  which  I  gave  in  detail  what  had  not  yet  been 
given,  the  method  and  technique  of  the  operation.  The  article 
was  widely  read  and  much  commented  on,  so  that  I  was  called 
in  to  treat  many  other  cases.  After  this  I  noticed  that  Dr. 
Thomas  no  longer  greeted  me  with  his  former  cordiality, 
much  to  my  perplexity,  and  I  further  noticed,  to  my  discom- 
fiture, that  he  no  longer  referred  cases  of  any  kind  to  me. 
This  was  more  or  less  of  a  blow,  since  he  had  in  the  past  sent 
me  many  a  good  patient.     The  mystery  was  soon  to  be  ex- 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  217 

plained.  A  professional  friend  said  to  me  one  day,  "What 
grievance  has  Dr.  Thomas  against  you?"  "I  do  not  know,"  I 
answered,  "he  evidently  has  something.  Why  do  you  ask?" 
It  seems  that  this  friend,  Dr.  Malcolm  McLean,  had  called 
Dr.  Thomas  in  consultation  in  a  case  of  this  kind.  Dr.  Thomas 
confirmed  the  diagnosis  and  asked  Dr.  McLean  what  his  ideas 
were  in  regard  to  the  treatment.  McLean  said  he  believed 
electricity  would  be  the  thing.  "Why  do  you  think  so?"  re- 
turned Thomas.  "Because  I  heard  Dr.  Rockwell's  paper  on 
the  subject  read  before  the  Harlem  Medical  Association."  At 
this  Dr.  Thomas  broke  forth — "Dr.  Rockwell!  What  does 
he  know  about  it?  I  called  him  simply  as  a  mechanician;  be- 
sides, he  published  cases  that  he  had  no  right  to  publish."  The 
secret  of  all  this  was  a  certain  trait  not  altogether  admirable 
in  the  character  of  a  man  otherwise  brilliant  and  of  high 
eminence  in  his  profession.  The  term  brilliant,  I  think,  fits  Dr. 
Thomas;  clever  in  debate,  with  remarkable  command  of  lan- 
guage, he  charmed  his  audience,  whether  of  medical  men  or 
the  students  of  his  classes,  as  few  men  could.  Dr.  Thomas 
was  one  of  the  most  charmingly  polite  men  that  I  ever  knew, 
but  his  polite  promises  were  not  quite  sure  of  being  trans- 
formed into  performances.  His  associate,  Dr.  Emmet,  was 
not  quite  so  polite  a  man,  but  when  he  said  a  thing,  he  always 
did  it.  Now  as  to  the  finality  of  my  connection  with  Dr. 
Thomas :  Dr.  Cornelius  R.  Agnew,  the  eminent  eye  specialist 
and  pioneer  in  that  department,  one  day  on  meeting  me  on  the 
street,  inquired  whether  I  wished  to  resign  my  position  at  the 
Woman's  Hospital,  he  being  one  of  the  governors  on  the 
board.  I  replied  that  I  had  no  such  thing  in  my  mind.  He 
then  told  me  that  Dr.  Thomas  at  a  recent  meeting  had  moved 
that  the  position  of  electrotherapeutist  be  abolished.  Dr. 
Agnew  inquired  if  I  had  been  informed  of  this,  and  finding  I 
knew  nothing  of  it,  protested  and  said  that  such  an  action  with- 
out my  knowledge  would  be  treating  me  with  scant  courtesy. 
He  said  the  office  would  not  be  abolished,  that  I  had  per- 
formed the  duties  acceptably,  and  that  the  position  was  mine 
so  long  as  I  wished  to  hold  it.  Others  told  me  the  same,  but 
I  then  and  there  concluded  to  resign.  I  had  had  enough  of  it, 
and  was  glad  to  be  relieved  of  the  regular  attendance  and  the 


2i 8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

work.     I  learned  afterwards  that  jealousy  on  Dr.  Thomas' 
part  of  his  subordinates  and  associates  was  no  new  thing. 

The  Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  then  located  at  the  corner 
of  Forty-second  Street  and  Madison  Avenue,  was  in  these 
earlier  years  of  my  practice  under  the  ministrations  of  the 
somewhat  noted  Stephen  H.  Tyng,  D.D.,  the  younger.  His 
father,  Rev.  Dr.  Stephen  H.  Tyng,  the  elder,  had  been  for 
many  years  the  well-known  rector  of  St.  George's,  on  Stuy- 
vesant  Square.  Dr.  Tyng,  the  elder,  was  a  celebrated  Low 
churchman  in  the  days  when  that  title  prevailed,  and  was,  of 
course,  the  natural  inheritor  of  the  narrowness  of  theological 
view  that  then  prevailed,  and  still  characterizes,  although  in 
less  degree,  all  cast-iron  creeds.  His  son,  Stephen,  Jr.,  was 
also  a  Low  Churchman,  of  a  somewhat  peppery  and  aggressive 
nature,  which  kept  him  much  in  the  public  eye  and  in  hot  water 
as  well.  He  had  established  a  dispensary  in  connection  with 
his  church  and  I  was  invited  to  become  one  of  the  attending 
physicians. 

In  this  way  I  saw  more  or  less  of  Dr.  Tyng,  and  finally  was 
called  upon  to  treat  his  wife,  a  lady  of  lovely  character  and 
great  refinement.  She  was  a  daughter,  I  believe,  of  Mr.  Arthur 
Tappan,  the  well-known  abolitionist.  My  association  with 
Mrs.  Tyng,  together  with  a  subsequent  experience,  caused  me 
to  establish  a  new  rule  in  regard  to  fees.  It  had  been  my 
habit  to  charge  neither  clergymen  nor  members  of  their  fami- 
lies, and  this  without  regard  to  position  or  salary.  I  treated 
Mrs.  Tyng  faithfully,  at  her  own  residence,  and  always  by 
special  appointment.  More  than  once,  however,  when  I  went 
to  the  house,  the  servant  would  meet  me  at  the  door  with  the 
remark  that  Mrs.  Tyng  was  called  out  that  morning  and 
would  I  come  on  the  morrow?  This  rankled  a  little,  but  I 
made  no  sign.     Not  long  after  I  was  consulted  by  a  Rev.  Dr. 

,  a  most  charming  gentleman,  and  rector  of  a  church  that 

gave  him  a  generous  salary.  He  came  to  the  office.  I  treated 
him  a  number  of  times  and  he  was  most  agreeable.  One 
morning,  however,  he  failed  to  keep  his  appointment,  and  with 
no  word  of  explanation,  never  came  again  professionally.  I 
was  annoyed,  and  for  the  first  time  in  the  case  of  a  clergyman, 
rich  or  poor,  sent  him  a  very  moderate  bill.  A  note  was 
handed  me,  and  opening  it  I  found  the  money  in  payment  of 


CIVIL  LIFE  AND  PRACTICE  219 

the  clergyman's  bill,  and  a  line  from  him  reading  as  follows, 
in  part — "In  a  ministerial  experience  of  twenty  years  this  is 
the  first  bill  I  have  ever  received  from  a  physician  for  profes- 
sional services."  I  was  somewhat  astonished,  and  the  thought 
entered  my  mind  that  if  he  had  never  before  paid  a  cent  to  the 
hard-working  doctor,  it  was  time  he  did.  I  receipted  the  bill 
and  went  to  the  door  myself  to  give  it  to  the  messenger,  when 
to  my  surprise,  the  minister  himself  was  in  waiting.  I  said 
good  morning,  and  handed  him  his  receipt.  As  I  opened 
the  door  for  him  to  go,  he  volunteered  the  information  that 
it  was  a  pleasant  morning,  to  which  I  agreed,  and  the  worthy 
Doctor  took  his  departure.  I  then  and  there  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  treat  a  clergyman  gratuitously  simply  because  he 
was  a  clergyman.  It  is  very  natural  that  a  parishioner  should 
make  no  professional  charge  to  his  own  minister.  That  is  a 
graceful  act  of  courtesy,  but  for  a  worker  in  special  fields  of 
medicine  to  be  asked  to  give  his  services  to  strangers  from 
all  over  the  country,  simply  because  they  are  ministers,  is  not 
just  to  him  nor  elevating  to  the  patient.  It  has  been  my  cus- 
tom to  adapt  my  fee  to  the  circumstances  of  my  client,  and  the 
poor  minister  as  well  as  the  poor  layman  has  always  received 
consideration  at  my  hands. 

About  the  year  1886  I  was  offered  the  professorship  of 
electrotherapeutics  at  the  New  York  Post  Graduate  Medi- 
cal School  and  Hospital.  It  was  entirely  without  remunera- 
tion, as  have  been  all  similar  positions  held  by  me.  Previously 
there  had  been  no  training  in  this  country  known  as  post- 
graduate instruction,  and  this  institution  was  founded  by  an 
old  acquaintance,  Dr.  D.  B.  St.  John  Roosa,  an  ear  specialist 
of  some  note,  but  pre-eminently  a  man  of  executive  ability,  per- 
suasive manners,  and  ready  speech.  As  a  politician  he  would, 
I  think,  have  had  a  great  success,  indeed  as  a  member  of  the 
Union  League  Club  I  have  seen  his  hand  in  some  of  its 
political  affairs. 

This  professorship,  then,  I  accepted  with  hesitancy  and 
some  misgivings.  I  think  I  knew  then,  and  know  now,  my 
limitations  as  well  as  any  living  man,  and  one  of  them  is  a 
want  of  readiness  and  aptness  as  a  public  speaker.  However, 
I  accepted  the  position,  and  for  four  years  tried  to  fill  it — how 
successfully  or  unsuccessfully  I  never  knew.     I  am  of  the  opin- 


220  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

ion  that  my  so-called  lectures  were  not  a  great  success.  I  en- 
deavored to  give  my  hearers  as  clear  an  idea  as  possible  of  the 
principles  on  which  electrotherapeutics  is  based.  I  went 
into  the  subject  of  the  physics  of  electricity,  and  of  its  physi- 
ology as  well,  and  I  seemed  to  be  listened  to  with  interest  and 
was  the  recipient  of  applause  only  when,  through  the  line  of 
least  resistance,  the  attention  and  curiosity  of  my  audience 
were  excited.  How  they  would  crowd  around  a  patient  who 
was  being  treated  by  static  electricity,  and  with  childish  curi- 
osity watch  the  pyrotechnics,  and  give  and  receive  the  slight 
discharges  from  the  person  of  the  one  on  the  insulating  stool. 
When,  however,  I  attempted  to  explain  that  wonderful  law 
of  Ohm,  that  North  Star  of  electrotherapeutics,  without 
which  no  one  can  be  a  master,  either  on  the  commercial  or 
therapeutic  side  of  electricity,  it  was  quite  a  different  matter, 
and  my  audience  varied  according  as  I  made  my  lectures  super- 
ficially interesting,  or  dwelt  upon  the  dry  but  necessary  funda- 
mentals of  the  science.  After  four  years  of  this  work  I  re- 
signed, and  was  succeeded  by  Dr.  William  J.  Morton. 


Book  V 
ELECTRO  EXECUTION 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

IT  had  long  been  conceded  that  the  rope  was  a  barbarous 
method  of  execution,  but  it  is  always  difficult  to  substitute 
a  new  method  for  an  old,  and  the  long  contest  over  this 
merciful  change  in  the  law  of  the  State  of  New  York 
proved  no  exception.  If  the  law  must  kill,  let  it  kill 
decently.  Although  no  strong  advocate  for  capital  punish- 
ment I  revolted  at  the  brutality  of  the  strangulation  method. 
And  so,  when  it  came  my  way  to  advocate  with  tongue  and  pen 
the  passing  of  this  new  and  humane  law,  I  did  so  ardently, 
and  after  its  passage  I  was  equally  interested  in  finding  out 
the  best  methods  of  procedure.  My  connection  with  this  (in 
a  small  way)  epoch-making  change  happened  in  this  wise. 

My  friend  and  comrade  in  the  Sixth  Ohio  Cavalry,  Dr. 
Carlos  Macdonald,  was  at  this  time  at  the  head  of  the  Lunacy 
Commission  of  the  state,  and  it  was  on  his  recommendation 
that  I  was  appointed  by  the  Commissioner  of  Prisons  as  one 
of  a  committee  of  three,  to  advise  the  state  as  to  the  best 
method  of  carrying  out  the  provisions  of  the  law.  It  was  at 
first  proposed  to  appoint  me  alone,  but  to  this  I  objected.  I 
was  unwilling  to  take  alone  the  responsibility,  and  therefore, 
Professor  Laudy  was  also  appointed.  Before  this  appointment 
I  had  become  somewhat  prominently  identified  with  the  new 
procedure.  How  I  came  to  be  selected  as  a  witness  for  the 
state  I  do  not  know,  but  one  morning  I  was  waited  upon  at 
my  office,  113  West  34th  Street,  by  Mr.  Post,  assistant  at- 
torney general  of  the  state,  who  said  he  wished  to  secure  my 
services  as  a  witness  for  the  state,  indeed  as  its  principal  wit- 
ness, in  defence  of  the  new  law.  It  appears  that  the  great 
Westinghouse  Electric  Company  was  bitterly  opposed  to  it 
and  proposed,  if  possible,  to  break  it  at  whatever  cost.  Why 
should  they  wish  to  do  so,  it  will  be  asked.  At  this  distance 
of  time,  as  it  turned  out,  their  opposition  seems  to  have 
been  entirely  foolish  and  unnecessary,  but  at  the  time  it  seemed 

221 


222  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

to  them  a  wise  thing  to  do,  and  they  were  willing  to  spend 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  to  prevent  the  law  from  going 
into  effect.  They  reasoned  in  this  way,  perhaps:  If  the  alter- 
nating current  which  is  the  basis  of  our  business  is  used  for 
this  deadly  purpose,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  Edison  current,  it 
will  greatly  injure  us.  The  public  will  be  afraid  of  it,  to  our 
detriment,  and  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  our  rival.  So  they 
hired  eminent  lawyers,  gathered  together  a  large  number  of 
highly  paid  witnesses,  and  the  contest  began. 

With  some  reluctance  I  consented  to  act  as  a  witness  for 
the  state.  I  felt  a  very  natural  timidity  in  being  subjected  to 
the  merciless  cross-examination  of  such  an  expert  in  that  line 
as  Bourke  Cockran,  but  the  urgency  of  the  attorney  general 
prevailed,  and  after  I  had  agreed  to  come,  he  apologized  for 
not  being  able  to  pay  me  more  than  one  hundred  dollars  for 
my  testimony.  He  said  the  state  treasury  was  low,  the  money 
appropriated  for  this  purpose  being  almost  exhausted.  How 
much  some  of  the  distinguished  witnesses  on  the  other  side 
were  paid  for  testimonies  not  very  valuable,  I  never  knew,  but 
undoubtedly  something  greatly  in  excess  of  the  sum  I  received, 
and  yet  without  egotism  I  think  it  may  safely  be  asserted  that 
in  the  main  it  was  my  testimony  that  saved  the  "law."  Bourke 
Cockran  was  at  that  time  coming  into  great  prominence  as  an 
eloquent  advocate  and  keen  cross-examiner,  and  as  I  appeared 
before  him  and  saw  seated  beside  him  one  of  the  best-known 
electricians  of  the  country,  who  had  been  hired  by  the  West- 
inghouse  people  as  a  mentor  and  guide  to  the  wily  advocate  in 
things  technical  and  scientific,  my  apprehensions  were  but  in- 
tensified. Before  going  to  the  court  room,  I  had  reasoned  with 
myself  in  this  way:  Why  be  worried?  You  know  far  more 
about  the  subject  than  Mr.  Cockran.  In  this  way  I  whistled  to 
keep  my  courage  up,  as  one  will,  and  entered  the  arena  in  a 
fairly  composed  state  of  mind.  When,  however,  I  saw  the 
great  electrical  expert  beside  him  as  a  coach,  my  confidence 
fell  a  bit.  However,  I  soon  rallied,  and  reflected  that  while  I 
might  not  be  equal  to  the  eminent  expert  in  my  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  the  physics  of  electricity,  yet  I  knew  enough  for  prac- 
tical purposes.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  I  felt  that  in  my 
knowledge  of  the  relation  of  electricity  to  the  living  tissue,  to 


ELECTRO  EXECUTION  223 

nerve  and  to  muscle,  I  must  be  far  ahead  of  him;  and  this, 
after  all,  was  the  important  thing. 

The  New  York  Evening  Post  had  about  the  best  epitome 
of  my  testimony,  which  was  as  follows : 

"The  interrupted  current  of  the  hearing  before  Tracy  E. 
Becker,  referee,  in  Bourke  Cockran's  office  in  the  Equitable 
Building,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  murderer  Kemmler 
from  being  put  to  death  by  the  alleged  cruel  and  unusual 
means  of  electricity,  was  restored  to  its  circuit  at  half  past 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  flashed  along  with  unusual 
alternating,  high  tension  energy,  as  befits  a  non-continuous 
current.  Dr.  A.  D.  Rockwell,  whom  Dr.  Loomis  in  his  evi- 
dence, given  on  Friday  last  for  the  criminal,  named  as  an  elec- 
tro-medical authority,  was  put  into  the  chair  by  Mr.  Post,  and 
his  testimony  was  of  the  most  straightforward  nature  and  en- 
tirely satisfactory,  not  to  Kemmler  or  his  attorneys.  Special 
investigations  into  the  general  subject  of  electricity,  study  and 
experiment  had  led  him  (this  was  his  testimony)  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  resistance  of  the  human  body  to  an  electric 
current  did  not  keep  up  under  the  application  of  that  current. 
On  the  contrary,  it  fell  with  a  rapidity  proportionate  to  the 
continuance  of  the  current,  and  with  still  greater  rapidity  in  pro- 
portion to  the  increase  in  the  energy  of  the  current.  Such  was 
the  fall  in  the  rapidity  of  resistance  that  if  a  current,  say  from 
a  galvanic  battery  of  one  thousand  cells,  were  applied  to  a 
human  being,  it  would,  in  his  judgment,  effect  an  almost  in- 
stantaneous reduction  from  the  subject's  maximum  to  his  mini- 
mum resistance.  While  the  question  of  resistance  must  be  ad- 
mitted to  be  an  important  one  in  cases  for  medico-electric 
treatment,  no  manifestation  of  it  was  ever  an  obstacle  to  any 
desired  application  of  electricity.  But,  with  all  that  has  been 
said,  or  might  be  said  about  differences  of  resistance,  he  had 
found  that  whenever  the  same  voltage  of  current  was  used, 
and  the  same  care  taken  in  the  preparation  and  adjustment  of 
the  electrodes,  he  always  obtained  approximately  the  same 
milliampere  measurement  of  resistance. 

"The  electrical  resistance  of  a  human  being  was  also  largely 
a  matter  of  appliances.  It  materially  lessens,  for  instance,  as 
the  surface  of  the  electrodes  is  increased.  It  was  very  much 
heightened,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  adjustment  of  the  elec- 


224  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

trodes  to  the  subject  was  imperfect  and  the  contact  defective. 
It  is  true  that  there  were  from  day  to  day  variations  of  resist- 
ance in  the  same  individual,  but  they  were  easily  overcome  if 
known  efficient  means  were  used  to  defeat  the  merely  skin  re- 
sistance. It  was  true,  too,  that  there  were  distinct  variations 
in  susceptibility  to  electrical  effects  among  different  people. 
These  variations  were  manifested  by  exhibitions  of  nervous- 
ness in  some,  sensations  of  burning  in  others,  contrac- 
tion of  muscles  in  others;  but,  said  the  doctor,  this  subject 
would  lead  us  into  the  wide  question  of  the  primary,  second- 
ary, and  permanent  results  when  applied  to  the  human  system. 
These  variations,  however,  he  regarded  more  as  differences 
in  'nerve' — in  the  stoic  quality  of  the  individuals — than  as 
registering  actual  differences  of  body  in  relation  to  electricity. 
Dr.  Rockwell  was  present  at  Edison's  laboratory  in  Orange, 
N.  J.,  when  experiments  in  killing  animals  were  conducted. 
Four  calves,  four  dogs  and  one  horse  were  operated  upon  that 
day.  The  dynamos  in  Mr.  Edison's  laboratory  were  used, 
and  the  current  was  the  alternating  current.  At  the  request 
of  some  of  the  scientific  men  present,  Dr.  Rockwell  made  sug- 
gestions as  to  the  best  method  of  placing  the  electrodes  in 
position.  The  result  of  the  experiments  was  instantaneous 
death  in  every  case  except  one.  In  this  case  there  was  some 
accidental  derangement  of  the  electrodes,  and  the  solution  of 
sulphate  of  zinc,  with  which  the  sponges  covering  the  elec- 
trodes were  saturated,  ran  down  the  hide  of  the  animal,  and 
diverted  a  portion  of  the  current.  Another  shock,  unattended 
by  this  accident,  killed  the  animal.  He  was  absolutely  con- 
vinced that  in  these  cases  death  was  instantaneous.  A  current 
of  one  thousand  volts  was  used  upon  the  horse,  and  from  four 
hundred  to  one  thousand  upon  the  other  animals.  Then  Mr. 
Post  focused  things  for  Dr.  Rockwell  in  the  specific,  crucial 
question  with  which  he  always  winds  up,  and  the  doctor  an- 
swered that  it  was  his  unhesitating  opinion  that  an  electric 
current  of  sufficient  strength  could  be  generated  by  artificial 
means,  and  could  be  applied  to  the  body  in  such  a  way  as  to 
produce  instant  death  without  pain,  in  every  case,  and  without 
mutilation  from  burning. 

"If,    as    execution   by   electricity    contemplated,    electrodes 
were  affixed  to  the  head  and  feet  of  a  man  who  had  been 


ELECTRO  EXECUTION  225 

placed  in  a  recumbent  position  in  a  chair,  and  an  electric  cur- 
rent was  then  applied  to  him,  it  would  diffuse  itself  generally 
throughout  his  body  along  the  paths  of  least  resistance.  These 
were  the  blood  and  the  muscular  tissues,  which  were  the  ele- 
ments most  fully  charged  with  the  saline  solutions  of  the  body. 
The  portions  which  offered  the  major  resistance  were  the 
bones  and  the  skin.  As  to  the  kind  of  current  to  be  preferred 
for  use  in  executions,  his  experiences,  though  confined  to  low 
pressure,  approved  the  alternating  as  being  the  most  deadly. 
He  would  advise,  in  inflicting  capital  punishment  with  elec- 
tricity, that  electrodes  should  be  used  large  enough  to  cover 
the  whole  surface  of  the  subject's  brain;  that  they  should  have 
metal  backs,  and  should  have  interposed  between  them  and 
the  points  of  contact  with  the  subject  a  thickness  of  sculptor's 
clay,  or  absorbent  cotton,  thoroughly  moistened  with  salt  or 
sulphate  of  zinc.  He  would  be  very  much  astonished  if  after 
all  this  were  done,  an  alternating  current  of  one  thousand  volts 
failed  to  kill  instantly.  The  immediate  deadliness  of  one 
thousand  five  hundred  volts  he  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment. 

"The  pathological  effect  upon  the  body  of  a  fatal  current, 
would  be  a  mechanical  action  upon  the  tender  interior  tissues, 
tearing  them  apart;  the  stoppage  of  the  heart  by  paralysis  of 
the  nerve  centers,  and  consequent  cessation  of  respiration." 
Apparently  nothing  further  could  add  to  the  clearness  and 
directness  of  Dr.  Rockwell's  testimony  and  to  the  wisdom  of 
Mr.  Gerry  and  his  commission,  and  Mr.  Post  turned  him  over 
to  Mr.  Cockran.  That  counsellor  immediately  applied  to  Dr. 
Rockwell  all  the  instruments  of  cross-examining  torture  known 
to  the  inquisitorial  chambers  of  his  brain.  The  Doctor  was 
compelled  to  admit  that,  as  he  had  never  vivisected,  all  his 
knowledge  of  the  pathological  effects  of  electricity  upon  the 
human  body  was  derived  from  his  reading.  Perhaps  the 
keenest  torture  inflicted  by  Mr.  Cockran  were  the  questions 
relating  to  the  professional  standing  of  electro-medical  experts 
who  had  previously  testified.  "Hem, — Yes,"  the  Doctor  did 
know  of  Dr.  Gray.  "Isn't  he  a  great  authority  on  Medical 
Electricity?"  asked  Mr.  Cockran.  "He  makes  a  specialty 
of  nervous  diseases,"  evasively  responded  Dr.  Rockwell.  "Is 
not  Dr.  Sachs  recognized  as  an  expert  of  high  authority?"  de- 
manded Mr.  Cockran.     Dr.  Rockwell  paled  and  compressed 


226  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

his  lips.  "Dr.  Sachs  is  a  neurologist,"  he  finally  answered, 
"but  I  am  not  aware  that  he  is  a  high  authority  on  electricity." 
Mr.  Cockran  went  on  into  the  various  subjects  of  Mr.  Post's 
examination,  questioning  like  an  agnostic  and  trying  his  best 
to  get  Dr.  Rockwell  to  answer  like  one. 

"The  tremendous  lightning  bolt  proven  by  the  fact  of  its 
denuding  Alfred  West  of  his  clothing  (as  Mr.  West  testified 
on  Friday  last)  was  a  subject  of  which  Mr.  Cockran  never 
tired.  Dr.  Rockwell  said  that  it  only  showed  that  the 
periphery  of  Mr.  West's  body  was  more  affected  than  the 
nerve  centres." 

"Mr.  Cockran: — What  is  a  periphery? 

"Dr.  Rockwell: — The  outside  of  a  thing." 

And  thus  ended  the  much  dreaded  ordeal,  begun  with  some 
fear  and  trembling  but  from  which  I  emerged  somewhat  ex- 
hilarated and  with  a  sense  of  mental  alertness  rather  in  excess 
of  what  I  had  thought  to  be  mine. 

As  an  illustration  of  how  much  bluff  there  is  in  legal  affairs, 
I  recall  a  certain  question  put  to  me  by  Mr.  Cockran.  I  do 
not  now  recall  the  exact  nature  of  it,  but  he  required  an  answer 
either  Yes  or  No.  I  did  not  fall  into  the  trap,  for  I  instantly 
saw  that  either  an  affirmative  or  negative  answer  would  put 
me  at  a  disadvantage  and  weaken  my  cause.  I,  therefore,  re- 
plied that  it  would  be  necessary  for  me  to  qualify  my  answer. 
With  great  sternneess  and  force  the  eloquent  pleader  said, 
"No,  sir,  the  answer  must  be  either  Yes  or  No,  without  quali- 
fication." To  my  mind,  untrained  in  the  law,  visions  of  con- 
tempt of  court  flashed  before  me,  but  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, I  said,  "Mr.  Cockran,  that  is  an  utterly  senseless  ques- 
tion and  you  know  it,  and  I  refuse  to  answer."  Mr.  Cockran's 
aspect  and  attitude  immediately  changed  and  he  dropped  the 
subject,  much  to  my  relief. 

On  the  whole  he  conducted  the  cross-examination  like  a 
gentleman  and  with  fairness,  and  when  I  left  my  seat,  I  halted 
a  moment  and  said,  "Mr.  Cockran,  I  have  to  thank  you  for 
not  carving  me  all  to  pieces  to-day."  "Oh,  doctor,"  he  re- 
plied, "we  don't  do  that  here."  Then  adding,  "but  you  have 
been  the  best  witness  that  we  have  had  upon  the  stand."  To 
say  that  I  was  not  gratified  in  receiving  such  a  compliment 
from  my  cross-examiner,  especially  since  my  testimony  bore 


ELECTRO  EXECUTION  227 

heavily  against  his  case,  would  hardly  be  in  accordance  with 
the  truth.  I  was  still  further  pleased  when  Mr.  Post  told  me 
that  I  had  rendered  the  state  a  great  service. 

The  Post's  report  of  my  testimony  was  correct  excepting 
in  one  particular,  which  refers  to  my  friends  Drs.  Landon 
Carter  Gray  and  Bernard  Sachs,  for  although  I  was  in 
no  way  intimate  with  them,  we  were  on  the  most  friendly 
terms.  They  were  both  of  them  able  men,  and  Sachs,  in  par- 
ticular, I  have  always  regarded  as  a  man  of  exceptional  ability. 
They  were  neurologists  of  eminence,  but  had  not  devoted  spe- 
cial study  to  electricity  and  electrical  methods;  and  so  when 
asked  as  to  their  fitness  in  this  department  I  felt  justified  in 
saying  that  it  was  not  of  a  high  standard.  But  there  was  no 
"paling,"  and  "compressed  lips."  The  reporter  either  drew 
upon  his  imagination  or  said  it  to  give  interest  and  piquancy 
to  what  he  wrote.  I  was  told  that  Dr.  Gray  felt  very  much 
hurt  on  reading  my  testimony,  and  so  I  wrote  him  saying  that 
the  implied  innuendo  was  made  out  of  whole  cloth;  that 
neither  my  speech  or  action  justified  any  such  interpretation. 
"But,"  I  continued,  "much  as  I  appreciate  your  abilities  in 
other  directions,  I  do  not  consider  you  an  authority  on  the 
subject  of  the  relation  of  electricity  to  the  human  body." 

Gray  promptly  acknowledged  my  letter,  characterizing  it  as 
"frank  and  manly,"  and  so  the  affair  ended  with  no  break  in 
our  ordinarily  pleasant  relations.  Gray,  indeed,  was  grossly 
ignorant  in  the  matter,  and  he  well  understood  that  I  knew 
it.  But  a  short  time  before  this  he  asked  me  how  many  milli- 
amperes  of  current  it  would  be  safe  to  apply  to  the  head.  I 
told  him  that  with  proper  precaution  one  could  use  fifty  and 
even  more.  He  was  greatly  astonished  at  my  temerity,  saying 
that  in  his  experience  one  or  two  was  the  limit.  He  thus 
learned  a  thing  or  two,  and  when  on  the  stand  he  was  asked 
what  strength  of  current  could  be  applied  without  injury  to 
the  human  body,  he  replied  five  hundred  milli-amperes,  or 
some  such  amount.  This  was  all  true  enough,  but  serves  to 
show  how  quickly  (in  some  few  weeks)  he  graduated  as  an 
expert  in  this  particular  line,  and  received  what,  I  doubt  not, 
was  a  very  handsome  fee  from  a  great  corporation  for  knowl- 
edge he  did  not  possess. 

Among  the  witnesses  for  the  Westinghouse  people  was  a 


228  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

General  Michael  Kerwin.  Indeed  the  General  preceded  me 
by  just  a  day  on  the  witness  stand,  and  the  fact  of  his  appear- 
ing just  then  was  an  exceedingly  interesting  episode.  I  had 
known  him  in  the  Civil  War  as  the  Colonel  of  a  Pennsylvania 
cavalry  regiment.  During  a  short  illness  of  mine  in  1864,  he 
occupied  an  adjoining  cot  in  a  hospital  tent  at  City  Point,  Va. 
He  was  suffering  from  complete  paralysis  of  one  side  of  the 
body,  due  to  a  lightning  stroke.  This  bolt  first  struck  a  tree, 
killed  five  horses,  and  paralyzed  the  Major  (as  his  rank  was 
at  that  time).  He  finally  recovered,  and  in  the  last  campaign 
of  the  war,  as  I  was  sitting  on  my  horse  by  the  roadside  watch- 
ing the  troops  as  they  hurried  along,  I  saw  the  Colonel  at  the 
head  of  his  regiment.  He  saw  me,  and  turning  aside  for  the 
moment  he  touched  the  sign  of  the  eagle  on  his  shoulder,  and 
proudly  said,  "You  see,  Doctor,  I  have  my  reward."  From 
that  day,  some  twenty-five  years,  I  had  neither  seen  or  heard 
of  Kerwin,  and  it  was  an  interesting  coincidence  that  we  should 
both  be  called  as  witnesses  as  to  the  power  of  electricity  to 
kill.  The  capital  that  Mr.  Cockran  hoped  to  get  out  of  Ker- 
win's  testimony  related  to  the  fact  that  if  a  bolt  from  Heaven 
failed  to  kill  him,  how  could  we  be  sure  that  the  far  lower 
potential  of  artificial  electricity  could  always  be  relied  upon. 
His  testimony  did  not,  of  course,  stand  the  test  of  analysis,  but 
was  indeed  quite  worthless.  Subsequently  Kerwin  became 
United  States  Pension  Agent  for  this  district,  and  in  renewing 
our  acquaintance  we  laughed  together  over  the  futility  of  his 
evidence,  although  he  probably  did  not  see  it  exactly  in  the 
same  light  as  did  I. 

Following  this  testimony  of  mine  for  the  state,  as  already 
mentioned,  I  was  appointed  as  one  of  the  committee  to  deter- 
mine the  best  method  of  carrying  the  law  into  effect.  In  our 
investigations  we  visited  and  executed  animals  at  Edison's 
laboratory,  in  Orange,  New  Jersey,  Sing  Sing  prison,  Clinton 
prison  at  Dannemora,  and  Auburn  prison,  at  Auburn,  New 
York. 

It  is  something  of  a  privilege  to  have  witnessed  at  the 
Edison  plant  the  first  feeble  attempts  to  reproduce  the  human 
voice,  and  the  first  phonograph  attempts  to  represent  the  world 
in  motion.  I  spoke  a  few  words  into  a  crude  talking-ma- 
chine, and  it  was  an  amazing  thing  to  have  returned  to  me  the 
very  words  spoken.     I  knew  it  was  my  own  voice,  but  the 


ELECTRO  EXECUTION  229 

sound  seemed  strange  to  me  and  beyond  recognition.  It  is  no 
less  interesting  to  have  been  among  the  first  to  have  seen  the 
beginnings  of  the  world-wide  wonders  of  the  moving-picture 
business. 

After  our  visits  to  the  different  prisons  were  completed,  in 
which  we  saw  executed  some  nineteen  animals  of  all  sizes  and 
kinds,  the  committee  reported  that  they  were  unanimously  of 
the  opinion  that  the  electrical  machines  there  installed  would 
fulfill  their  purpose.  The  results  of  the  test  are  given  in  the 
following  table. 

Sing  Sing         Auburn  Clinton 

Commercial  voltage   1*560  1,680  i>i70 

Mean   voltage    1^404  i>5I2  I?°53 

Maximum  voltage    2,206  2,376  1,655 

Speed  of  dynamo 15650  1,900  i>5oo 

Speed  of  excitor 2,100  2,700  1,800 

The  dynamo  tested  at  Sing  Sing  was  an  alternating  current 
intended  to  supply  750  incandescent  lamps  of  16  candle- 
power  each.  At  Auburn  and  Clinton  the  dynamos  were  each 
intended  to  supply  650  incandescent  lamps  of  16  candle-power 
each.  The  committee  suggested  the  following  necessary  alter- 
ations to  the  machinery:  The  shafting  should  be  adjusted  and 
put  in  line,  the  pulleys  balanced,  and  the  engines  adjusted  to 
procure  a  uniform  motion  and  necessary  speed.  With  these 
changes  the  dynamos  could  be  made  to  fulfill  the  contract.  At 
Auburn  prison,  among  other  animals  that  were  killed,  the 
deadly  energy  of  the  current  was  tested  on  a  calf  and  also  on 
a  horse,  the  latter  weighing  about  1,000  pounds.  Placing  one 
electrode  on  the  forehead  of  the  horse,  and  the  other  on  the 
outer  aspect  of  the  hind  leg,  just  above  the  gambrel  joint,  a 
current  of  electro-motive  force  of  1,200  volts  was  passed. 
Death  was  instantaneous.  In  order  to  throw  light  on  the 
question  as  to  the  possibility  of  resuscitation  after  apparent 
death  by  electricity,  Dr.  George  C.  Fell  of  Buffalo  was  in- 
vited to  be  present  with  an  apparatus  devised  by  him  for  the 
purpose.  Immediately  after  the  calf  had  received  the  electric 
stroke,  Dr.  Fell  opened  the  windpipe  and  inserted  the  tube  of 
the  apparatus,  and  for  a  half  an  hour  kept  up  forced  respira- 
tion, but  failed  to  elicit  any  evidence  of  life.     This  demon- 


23o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

strated  that  the  condition  was  not  one  of  suspended  animation, 
but  of  death.  At  Sing  Sing  we  attempted  to  kill  an  old 
horse,  which  the  owner,  a  daughter  of  the  warden,  was 
willing  to  sacrifice.  The  electrodes,  having  been  applied,  a 
current  of  1,200  volts  was  turned  on,  when  greatly  to  our 
surprise,  the  animal,  instead  of  falling  dead  as  in  the  previous 
case,  dropped  to  his  knees  and  then  struggled  to  his  feet, 
seemingly  not  much  the  worse  for  the  stroke.  All  were  greatly 
astonished  and  perplexed,  but  a  glance  sufficed  to  explain  the 
reason  of  the  failure.  The  lower  electrode  had  been  insecurely 
fastened,  and  when  the  current  was  turned  on  was  lying  on  the 
damp  stone  floor  near  the  hoof  of  the  animal,  which  conse- 
quently received  but  a  fraction  of  the  full  force  of  the  current. 
In  falling  he  had  struck  his  head  and  was  bleeding  profusely. 
The  electrode  was  readjusted  and  a  second  stroke  thoroughly 
did  the  work.  It  was  fortunate  that  no  reporters  were  pres- 
ent, and  we  who  were  there  agreed  to  keep  our  lips  closed.  If 
the  accident  had  gotten  into  the  papers,  it  would  have  gone 
through  the  press  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other, 
to  the  prejudice  of  the  law. 

At  Clinton  prison  a  young  bull  weighing  about  600  pounds 
was  instantly  killed  by  a  current  of  900  volts.  On  receiving 
the  full  force  of  the  current  the  animal  fell,  and  instantly  the 
muscles  relaxed  owing  to  a  drop  in  the  voltage  from  900  to 
400.  The  period  of  contact,  however,  was  continued  for  ten 
seconds,  but  as  experiments  have  shown  that  a  current  of  400 
volts  is  hardly  sufficient  to  kill  one  of  the  larger  animals,  the 
conclusion  that  the  bull  was  killed  by  the  instantaneous  impact 
of  900  volts  is  inevitable. 

The  first  man  to  be  executed  by  the  new  method  was  the 
murderer  Kemmler  at  Auburn  prison.  When  the  witnesses 
reached  that  city,  we  found  a  postponement  awaiting  us,  and 
when  the  execution  took  place  I  was  unable  to  be  present. 
There  was  more  or  less  bungling  in  this  first  attempt.  Death 
seemed  not  quite  so  instantaneous  as  was  hoped,  and  there 
was  distinct  evidence  of  burning  flesh,  but  the  press  through- 
out the  country  greatly  exaggerated  every  defect  and  raised 
a  cry  of  indignation.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  perhaps,  that 
the  mistake  of  those  having  the  matter  in  charge  was  in  not 
following  the  suggestions  which  by  request  I  made  in  our  first 


ELECTRO  EXECUTION  231 

experiments  at  Edison's  laboratory.  In  the  case  of  Kemmler, 
instead  of  placing  the  electrodes  on  the  head  and  calf  of  the 
leg,  the  clumsy  and  inefficient  method  was  adopted  of  placing 
the  lower  electrode  at  the  small  of  the  back,  and  if  my  memory 
serves  me,  the  other  covered  the  back  of  the  neck.  The  other, 
the  best  method,  adopted  at  the  next  execution  and  still  pre- 
vailing, is  far  more  effective,  in  that  we  get  the  most  perfect 
adaptation  of  the  electrodes  and  the  best  conduction. 

A  short  time  subsequently  four  murderers  were  to  be  exe- 
cuted at  Sing  Sing,  and  the  severe  comments  on  the  first  killing 
threw  Warden  Brush  into  little  less  than  a  panic.  Very  much 
disturbed,  he  came  to  New  York  to  see  me,  begging  that  I 
would  help  him  out.  This  I  promised  to  do,  and  suggested 
electrodes  of  another  form,  insisting  also  that  they  be  placed 
on  the  parts  of  the  body  that  I  had  before  indicated.  I  at- 
tended the  killing  of  these  four  criminals,  my  first  and  last 
attendance  at  an  execution.  I  had  no  desire  to  go,  excepting 
as  I  was  very  naturally  curious  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  the 
success  of  the  method,  to  establish  which,  I  with  my  associates 
Dr.  Macdonald  and  Professor  Laudy,  had  given  so  much  time 
and  attention.  It  is  a  solemn  thing  to  see  a  human  being, 
helpless  and  ashen  pale,  deliberately  stricken  to  death  through 
the  impersonal,  awful,  resistless  power,  the  arm  of  the  law. 
And  yet,  as  one  after  the  other,  these  miserable  victims  of 
fate  and  their  own  ungovernable  passions  took  their  places  in 
the  death-chair,  and  were  quickly  sent  into  the  unknown,  a 
species  of  dreamlike  apathy  seemed  to  steal  over  me.  It  all 
seemed  so  unreal  and  without  human  touch  that  I  could  fancy 
myself  wafted  to  the  middle  ages,  and  to  the  inquisitorial 
chamber.  As  one  after  another,  in  quick  succession,  these 
poor  specimens  of  our  race  came  in  with  vacant  expression  and 
staring  eyes  which  looked  nowhere,  I  experienced  a  feeling  of 
shame  and  blood-guiltiness.  As  never  before  the  awful  mean- 
ing of  the  terms  "immutable"  and  "irrevocable"  was  driven  in. 
What  if  one  of  these  men  was  not  truly  guilty,  or  if  technically 
guilty,  yet  not  fully  so,  for  a  man  can  be  a  murderer  in  name, 
yet  not  in  heart?  Many  a  man  has  been  so.  Whatever  the 
case,  no  human  power  could  now  avail,  and  each  man  was 
as  sure  of  his  fate  as  if  entering  the  final  swirl  of  the  mael- 
strom. 


232  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

The  practical  reason  which  brought  me  there,  however,  was 
fully  satisfied.  What  I  had  before  asserted,  "If  the  law  must 
kill,  let  it  kill  decently,"  was  an  accomplished  fact.  All  the 
horrors  of  hanging — the  first  terrible  fatal  fall,  the  gradual 
choking,  the  blackening  face,  and  protruding  tongue,  and 
above  all  the  convulsive,  agonizing  and  long-drawn-out 
struggle,  were  absent.  It  is  truly  astonishing  that  such  a  bar- 
barous method  of  execution  should  have  been  so  long  tolerated 
by  a  civilized  and  Christianized  people,  and  all  honor  to  Mr. 
Gerry  and  his  supporters  for  their  advocacy  of  a  better  law. 

Aside  from  the  knowledge  that  a  human  life  is  being  sacri- 
ficed, there  is  nothing  revolting  in  the  sight.  With  face  cov- 
ered and  person  securely  bound,  the  victim  awaits  the  final 
stroke,  and  the  translation  from  life  to  death  is  quicker  than 
thought,  and  with  a  mathematical  impossibility  of  pain.  All 
that  the  onlooker  sees  is  a  quick,  darting  forward  of  the  body 
for  the  few  inches  allowed  by  the  leeway  of  its  bonds  and 
there  in  a  perfectly  motionless  attitude  it  remains  until  the  cur- 
rent ceases.  Then  the  body  returns  to  its  original  position  as 
quietly  as  a  child  sinking  to  its  sleep.  The  certainty  that  no 
pain  can  be  experienced  under  a  lethal  dose  of  electricity  is 
evident  from  the  fact  that,  while  nerve  force  travels  at  the  rate 
of  but  ioo  feet  a  second,  electricity  travels  at  the  rate  of 
160,000  miles  a  second.  The  brain,  therefore,  can  have  ab- 
solutely no  time  to  experience  a  sensation,  since  the  electrical 
current  travels  a  million  times  faster  than  the  nerve  current. 


Book  VI 
A  TRIP  ABROAD 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

COMMON  as  a  trip  now  is  across  the  Atlantic,  yet 
to  the  American  of  Anglo-Saxon  birth  who  for  the 
first  time  sets  foot  on  English  soil  it  is  one  of  the 
notable  events  of  his  life.  Here  his  ancestors  lived 
and  died,  and  as  never  before  he  appreciates  the  fact 
that,  differ  as  we  may  in  the  unimportant,  we  are  in  essentials 
one  people.  If  this  idea  is  not  strongly  impressed  in  the  be- 
ginning, let  him  cross  the  Channel  and  sojourn  for  a  time 
among  those  who  speak  in  unknown  tongues,  and  he  will  return 
to  England  almost  as  to  his  own  country.  After  my  visit  to 
the  Continent,  I  recall  with  what  a  homelike  feeling  of  security 
and  satisfaction  I  again  found  myself  in  London.  What  though 
its  atmosphere  was  heavier  and  its  hues  more  somber,  could 
I  not  speak  understandingly  with  every  man,  was  its  literature 
not  mine,  and  was  not  every  historic  association  of  the  great 
town  and  nation  preliminary  to  the  Pilgrim  fathers,  to  the 
heroic  struggle  of  the  Revolution,  and  of  the  Civil  War  that 
followed? 

In  1895  I  found  myself  somewhat  impaired  in  health,  and 
it  occurred  to  my  son,  then  a  student  at  college,  that  an  ocean 
voyage  and  its  accompanying  change  would  do  me  good.  This 
idea  was  prompted  by  the  fact  that  the  professor  of  the  depart- 
ment of  English  literature  was  about  to  take  the  trip 
and  would  be  glad  of  my  company.  The  arrangements  were 
made,  and  on  the  last  day  of  July  we  sailed  on  the  Germanic 
of  the  White  Star  Line.  Aware  of  my  susceptibility  to  "mal 
de  mer,"  I  decided  to  use  the  remedy  that  I  had  so  often  pre- 
scribed for  others,  namely,  the  bromide  of  sodium.  The  idea 
was  more  or  less  original  with  Dr.  Beard.  He  had  written 
much  about  it,  and  sometime  before,  at  the  instance  of  the 
steamship  company,  some  10,000  booklets  dealing  with  the 
subject,  both  theoretically  and  practically,  were  printed  and 
distributed  broadcast.     The  theory  was  and  still  is  that  sea- 

233 


234  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

sickness  is  primarily  a  brain  disturbance  due  to  shock  to  the 
cerebral  nerve  cells,  and  that  the  drug,  by  obtunding  the  sen- 
sorium,  acted  as  a  local  anaesthetic.  However  this  may  be, 
experience  had  fully  confirmed  the  fact  that  the  treatment  was 
of  no  little  value  in  many  cases.  Long  before  this  I  remember 
listening  to  a  paper  by  Professor  Fordyce  Barker  on  sea- 
seasickness,  and  his  method,  which  had  been  found  of  service, 
was  in  a  measure  based  on  the  same  pathological  principle. 
It  was  the  habit  of  Dr.  Barker  to  go  abroad  every  year,  and 
later  Dr.  Beard  did  also,  and  so  the  attention  of  both  these 
keen  observers  and  alert  minds  was  naturally  drawn  to  the 
subject.  Dr.  Barker's  method  was  this:  He  required  his 
patients  to  board  the  vessel  the  night  before  sailing,  go  to  bed 
and  stay  there  for  twenty-four  hours  after  sailing  without 
lifting  the  head  from  the  pillow.  Moreover  the  head  must 
be  toward  the  bow  of  the  boat,  on  the  principle  that  as  it 
plunged  forward  the  blood  would  press  less  heavily  on  the 
brain  tissues  than  in  the  reverse  position.  The  water  in  a 
bottle  moved  rapidly  forward  presses  to  the  rear,  and  the 
analogy  of  the  blood  in  the  body  acting  in  the  same  way  under 
similar  circumstances  has  its  weight.  This  method  undoubt- 
edly proved  effective  in  many  cases,  but  its  disadvantages 
were  many  and  obvious.  The  disadvantage  of  the  bromide 
method  also  will  be  seen  when  the  procedure  is  told.  In  order 
to  get  results,  the  salt  must  be  taken  according  to  certain  rules. 
Beginning  three  days  before  sailing  thirty  grains  of  the  bro- 
mide must  be  taken  three  times  a  day.  The  object  is  to  get 
thoroughly  under  the  influence  of  the  drug  before  leaving  the 
shore.  This  influence  is  seen  mainly  in  a  tendency  to  sleepi- 
ness, associated  often  with  slight  unsteadiness  in  the  limbs  and 
some  dryness  of  the  throat.  In  other  words,  it  is  the  physio- 
logical action  of  the  drug  that  we  are  seeking,  rather  than  any 
exact  amount.  When  that  is  attained,  a  certain  proportion 
and  I  think  a  large  proportion,  of  cases  that  would  be  ill  with- 
out it,  are  rendered  immune  for  the  time  being  to  the  action 
of  the  waves.  One  who  is  going  to  sea  for  the  first  time  and 
knows  not  whether  he  will  be  sick,  naturally  hesitates  to  drug 
himself  on  an  uncertainty,  but  he  who  has  had  experience 
and  is  sure  of  his  fate  will  be  only  too  glad  to  avail  himself 
of  any  hope  of  relief.    As  one  who  has  had  a  somewhat  large 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  235 

experience  in  prescribing  this  treatment  to  others  and  has 
experienced  its  good  effect  in  his  own  person,  I  have  no  hesi- 
tation in  standing  sponsor  for  its  value. 

On  shipboard,  when  alone  and  still  under  the  influence  of 
the  drug,  one  does  get  singularly  drowsy,  and  a  very  pleasant 
feeling  it  is,  but  when  joined  by  another  and  engaged  in  con- 
versation, or  when  the  interest  is  excited  in  any  way,  the  sleepy 
feeling  seems  to  pass  away.  The  layman,  however,  who  at- 
tempts this  treatment,  excepting  under  proper  direction,  is 
more  likely  than  not  to  fail  in  attaining  his  object.  There  is 
more  or  less  of  further  advice  and  warning  needed  which  can 
be  given  satisfactorily  only  by  a  physician  of  experience.  Com- 
fortable and  calm  under  the  sedative  influence  of  the  drug,  I 
watched  the  receding  shores,  and,  when  darkness  closed 
around,  we  were  far  out  at  sea.  It  was  like  most  voyages, 
quiet  and  uneventful,  and  just  suited  to  a  complete  and  healthy 
rest.  I  am  always  glad  to  meet  persons  of  unusual  intelligence 
or  distinction,  and  I  availed  myself  on  this  occasion  of  making 
the  acquaintance  of  two  men  of  large  reputation  and  ability. 
One  was  General  Benjamin  F.  Bristow,  who  served  with 
honor  through  the  years  of  the  Civil  War,  and  subsequently 
became  secretary  of  the  treasury  in  the  administration  of 
General  Grant.  He  was  politically  active  in  the  years  follow- 
ing, and  was  in  line  for  the  Presidential  nomination,  but 
failed  in  his  ambition.  Bristow  seeing  by  my  Loyal  Legion 
button  that  I,  too,  had  been  in  the  army  became  very  friendly. 
The  little  button  has  often  that  effect.  Bristow  never  had 
high  command.  He  may  have  been  a  brigade  commander, 
but  at  the  battle  of  Shiloh  his  rank  was  that  of  Colonel.  It 
will  be  remembered  that  at  that  battle  our  forces  were  sur- 
prised by  the  enemy  and  driven  back,  so  that  at  nightfall  they 
formed  a  semi-circle  with  the  two  flanks  resting  on  the  river. 
With  its  back  to  the  river  and  a  victorious  army  in  its  front, 
the  Union  Army  was  in  a  position  of  real  peril.  According  to 
Bristow,  General  McPherson,  afterwards  killed  at  Atlanta, 
rode  up  and  excitedly  told  of  happenings  at  the  front  that  de- 
manded immediate  attention.  Grant  listened  apathetically, 
and  continued  calmly  smoking  without  reply.  The  two  were 
warm  friends  and  McPherson,  who  was  at  that  time  on 
Grant's  staff,  asked  the  latter  somewhat  impatiently  what  he 


236  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

was  going  to  do  about  it.  Removing  his  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
Grant  calmly  replied,  "Mac,  I  am  going  to  attack  them  at 
sunrise,  and  by  G — d,  how  surprised  they  will  be."  Now  all 
such  little  episodes  of  history  are  interesting  and  I  have  no 
question  that  in  substance  what  Bristow  told  me  was  correct. 
To  McPherson,  the  staff  officer,  the  position  of  our  army  was 
more  or  less  appalling,  with  its  back  to  the  river  and  no  power 
of  retreat  in  case  of  its  defeat,  which  seemed  probable.  Grant, 
however,  evidently  knew  of  the  near  approach  of  Buell,  and 
that  the  morning  would  find  him  amply  reinforced.  But 
Grant  never  swore.  It  was  foreign  to  his  nature,  and  I  doubt 
whether  the  epithet,  "By  G — d"  ever  passed  his  mouth.  Here, 
perhaps,  Bristow  unconsciously  embellished  Grant's  reply  to 
give  it  greater  piquancy,  and  was  influenced  by  the  way  he 
would  have  expressed  himself  under  similar  circumstances. 

The  other  interesting  person  that  I  met  was  "Boss"  Shep- 
herd, so  called.  Just  a  moment  before  the  steamer  left  her 
dock,  a  carriage  rapidly  approached  and  a  large,  imposing 
figure  stepped  quickly  from  it,  paid  the  driver  and  hastened 
aboard.  My  attention  was  attracted  because  of  the  masterful 
bearing  of  the  man  and  his  late  arrival.  Soon  after  I  learned 
his  name,  and  one  day  in  the  smoking  room  I  offered  him  a 
light  for  his  cigar,  and  our  acquaintance  began.  I  spoke,  of 
course,  of  the  great  work  he  had  initiated  in  beautifying  the 
city  of  Washington,  but  did  not  allude  to  the  unfortunate 
complications  that  ensued.  Before  his  time  the  city  of  Wash- 
ington as  the  capital  of  a  great  country,  was  a  disgrace  rather 
than  a  pride  in  all  that  concerns  beauty,  regularity  and  cleanli- 
ness. There  were  the  fine  public  buildings,  to  be  sure,  but  by 
very  contrast  they  only  heightened  the  surrounding  squalor. 
Mr.  Shepherd  took  the  bull  by  the  horns.  With  authority 
and  without,  he  went  boldly  and  vigorously  to  work.  He  tore 
down  and  upbuilded,  straightening  and  widening  streets,  and 
establishing  innumerable  little  park  spots  of  beauty,  until  he 
transformed  the  city  into  one  of  the  most  attractive  of  the 
world.  Only  a  man  of  extraordinary  energy  and  capacity 
could  have  accomplished  such  a  work,  and  how  far  he  trans- 
gressed legal  limits  I  know  not;  but  the  work  done,  he  came 
to  grief.  He  was  accused  of  illegal  actions,  and,  as  I  seem  to 
remember,  stood  at  one  time  in  imminent  danger  of  trial.   This 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  237 

one  thing  is  sure,  however,  instead  of  having  profited  finan- 
cially by  his  splendid  achievement,  the  end  of  his  work  found 
him  poor. 

Years  ago  I  knew  a  practising  physician,  whose  name  es- 
capes me,  who  subsequent  to  Shepherd's  departure  from 
Washington  became  intimately  associated  with  him.  He 
accompanied  him  to  Mexico,  where  Shepherd,  with  character- 
istic energy  and  foresight,  recouped  his  lost  fortune  in  the 
mining  fields  of  that  country.  In  my  friendly  intercourse 
with  these  two  men,  Bristow  and  Shepherd,  I  happened  to 
notice  them  almost  face  to  face  on  several  occasions,  but  never 
saw  them  once  speak,  or  as  much  as  give  each  other  a  look 
of  recognition.  This  I  thought  strange,  as  it  was  in  Grant's 
administration,  while  Bristow  was  a  member  of  the  Cabinet, 
that  Shepherd's  great  work  was  done.  Later  I  found  that 
the  men  were  not  friendly,  and  that  Bristow  had  been  one  of 
his  strongest  opponents.  Each  must  have  occasionally  seen 
me  conversing  with  the  other,  but  I  took  good  care  not  to  men- 
tion the  name  of  either.  Since  they  have  left  this  earth  let 
us  hope  that  both  of  these  notable  characters,  so  genial  and 
likeable  in  their  private  relations,  are  now  where  they  can 
enjoy  the  good  fellowship  which  ought  to  have  been  theirs 
while  here. 

My  companion,  the  professor,  had  brought  his  own  bicycle 
with  him  across  the  ocean,  since  it  was  our  purpose  to  wheel 
our  way  over  the  country.  I  tried  to  hire  one  in  Liverpool, 
but  not  meeting  with  success,  we  took  the  train  for  Chester 
and  spent  the  night.  After  exploring  the  wonders  and  an- 
tiquities of  that  old  and  famous  town  I  succeeded  in  getting  a 
wheel,  and  we  sped  on  to  the  town  of  Ludlow.  We  stopped 
at  the  Feathers  Hotel,  an  old  timber-and-plaster  house  con- 
taining some  panelled  rooms  with  rich  ceilings.  The  professor 
had  selected  our  route  well.  He  was  an  experienced  traveller, 
and  the  valley  of  the  Wye  was  away  from  the  usual  stereo- 
typed tours.  Beautiful  and  secluded  it  is,  and  while  hundreds 
visit  Kenilworth,  few  see  the  fine  old  ruin  of  Ludlow  Castle. 

Although  I  did  not  cross  the  Atlantic  especially  to  see 
this  fine  old  historic  ruin,  I  would  gladly  have  done  so.  I 
here  met  a  man  about  forty  years  of  age,  from  the  adjoining 
town,  who  was  out  for  a  little  trip  on  his  wheel.     He  said  he 


23  8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

had  never  seen  Ludlow  Castle,  but  meant  to  get  there  some- 
time. He  left  early  the  next  morning  without  doing  so,  leav- 
ing it  for  a  later  date.  He  probably  will  never  see  it,  on  the 
principle  that  what  can  be  done  at  any  time  is  never  done. 
The  old  castle  dates  back  nearly  a  thousand  years,  and  the 
mingled  romance  and  fact  that  make  up  its  history  constitute 
a  fascinating  tale.  In  the  old  times  it  was  the  seat  of  the 
lords  president  of  Wales,  and,  being  so  near  to  the  border 
of  a  hostile  race,  was  the  centre  of  many  a  desperate  fight. 
While  the  outer  walls  were  staunch  and  strong,  the  floors  had 
fallen,  but  the  situation  of  the  room  where  the  masque  of 
"Comus"  was  first  exhibited  is  pointed  out,  and  also  that  where 
the  two  Princes  were  confined,  those  little  innocents  who,  on 
the  accession  of  Richard  III  to  the  throne,  were  recalled  to 
London  to  perish  mysteriously  in  the  Tower.  About  this  time 
another  professor,  a  professor  of  Greek,  a  friend  of  my  trav- 
eling companion,  joined  us.  Both  were  congenial  spirits. 
The  newcomer  could  read  the  Greek  inscriptions  and  both  of 
them  had  a  smattering,  at  least,  of  architectural  matters, 
ancient  and  modern.  They  kept  much  to  themselves  and  I 
began  to  have  a  practical  demonstration  of  the  old  saying 
"two  is  company — three  is  a  crowd."  Indeed  I  had  greatly 
counted  on  the  pleasure  I  should  derive  from  such  close  con- 
tact with  a  professor  of  English  literature.  I  could  not 
have  asked  for  a  more  opportune  alliance  for,  although 
making  no  pretensions  to  proficiency  in  the  great  field  of  litera- 
ture, yet  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  I  have  been  for  many 
years  one  of  its  worshippers.  Although  occupying  the  same 
stateroom  on  our  way  out,  for  more  than  a  week,  we  did  not 
see  very  much  of  each  other  excepting  at  meal  time.  As  his 
friend  joined  us  at  Ludlow  and  at  about  the  same  time  also  a 
young  man  named  Rogers,  whose  father  had  solicited  me  to 
take  him  along,  we  grouped  accordingly. 

Rogers  was  a  good-natured,  happy-go-lucky  young  fellow, 
always  out  of  money,  but  altogether  companionable.  The  late 
Commissioner  Lyman,  a  patient  of  mine,  was  not  far  wrong 
in  his  idea  of  a  traveling  companion.  When  I  told  him  with 
whom  I  was  to  go  abroad,  he  asked,  "Do  you  know  him 
well?"  I  was  compelled  to  admit  that  he  was  a  new  acquaint- 
ance,  but  that  I  knew  of  his  high  character   and   standing. 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  239 

Lyman  asserted  that  he  would  not  go  on  a  long  trip  with  any 
man,  whatever  his  reputation,  unless  he  knew  him  well. 
"Whatever  his  virtues,"  he  said,  "you  two  may  be  cast  in  dif- 
ferent molds."  This  seemed  to  be  the  case  with  the  professor 
and  myself,  but  it  soon  happened  that  our  companionship, 
such  as  it  was,  was  severed.  In  going  down  a  long  stretch  of 
hill  between  Bristol  and  Bath,  both  of  us  started  to  coast. 
When  getting  up  to  high  speed,  I  suddenly  recalled  the  fact 
that  my  wheel  was  without  brakes,  and  realized  my  danger. 
The  hill  was  long  and  steep,  and,  as  is  the  way  with  English 
hills,  there  was  a  sharp  curve  some  distance  ahead.  I  had  had 
but  little  experience  in  using  my  foot  as  a  brake,  but  such 
skill  as  I  had  was  put  into  instant  use ;  in  doing  so  I  lost  my 
balance,  and  found  myself  going  over.  Visions  of  broken 
bones  flashed  before  me.  We  were  driving  along  at  an  alarm- 
ing rate  of  speed,  and  in  my  fall  I  brushed  the  professor,  and 
he,  too,  fell;  but  as  his  speed  was  far  less  than  mine,  no  harm 
was  done  to  him.  I,  however,  sped  along  the  rough  ground 
many  feet,  and  when  I  arose  the  blood  was  trickling  abund- 
antly from  a  bad  wound  in  the  hand,  and  my  clothes  were  a 
sight  to  see.  I  must  have  presented  rather  a  sorry  spectacle, 
and  was  open  for  some  commiseration;  but  the  first  words 
that  greeted  my  ear  from  my  excellent  fellow-tourist,  the  pro- 
fessor, were  in  regard  to  the  condition  of  his  wheel.  He 
hoped  that  it  had  sustained  no  injury !  Bath  was  but  five  miles 
further  on,  and  binding  up  the  injured  member  as  best  we 
could,  I  painfully  made  my  way,  guiding  the  wheel  with  my 
uninjured  hand. 

From  there  I  went  by  train  to  the  cathedral  town  of  Wells, 
our  destination  for  the  night,  the  others  following  on  their 
wheels.  I  was  glad  to  see  this  fine  old  structure,  especially 
as  a  direct  ancestor  (a  Bishop  Creighton)  of  an  esteemed  col- 
lege mate,  one  George  Creighton  Peet,  reigned  here  in  years 
long  past.  My  hand  was  too  badly  damaged  to  continue  the 
trip,  and  the  next  day,  after  looking  through  the  cathedral,  I 
started  for  London,  accompanied  by  Rogers. 

During  this  comparatively  short  trip  through  rural  Eng- 
land, there  was  much  of  interest  and  delight  and  the  memory 
of  it  has  always  been  freshly  pleasant.  I  recall  the  several 
evenings  spent  in  an  English  tap-room  or  bar-room.     I  was 


24o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

alone  in  this  enjoyment,  for  my  friends,  the  two  professors, 
evidently  disdained  this  low  species  of  pleasure,  preferring 
architectural  discussions  of  the  Gothic  and  the  Norman,  of 
towers,  keeps,  embattled  parapets,  and  pointed  gables.  I,  too, 
loved  old  ruins,  and  how  I  gloried  in  Tintern  Abbey !  No 
remains  of  former  life  and  movement,  simple  as  the  life  of  the 
old  monks  must  have  been,  impressed  me  more.  The  ruins 
are  fairly  well  preserved  and  there  was  to  me  a  romantic  halo 
over  all.  The  lovely  Wye  lends  its  gentle  charm  to  the  scene, 
and  as  I  gazed  upon  its  quiet  waters  into  which  the  inmates  of 
the  Abbey  had  so  often  cast  their  lines  for  their  Friday's  dish 
of  fish,  I  recalled  Wordsworth's  beautiful  verses  on  Revisit- 
ing Tintern  Abbey  and  the  banks  of  the  Wye : 

"Five  years  have  passed;  five  summers,  with  the  length 
Of  five  long  winters !  and  again  I  hear 
These  waters  rolling  from  their  mountain  springs 
With  a  sweet  inland  murmur."      *      *      * 

But  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  enjoyed  the  old  English 
inns,  and  found  no  places  better  adapted  to  study  character 
and  to  getting  into  close  human  touch  with  the  heart  of  the 
people  than  in  these  century-established  meeting  places  for  the 
brawn  and  muscle  of  the  countryside.  I  would  not  have  missed 
the  opportunity,  and  since  then  in  reading  the  descriptive  pages 
of  Hardy  and  Phillpotts,  and  other  English  writers,  I  have 
been  able  to  enjoy  their  masterly  portraitures  of  types  as  I 
could  not  have  done  without  this  experience. 

At  Ludlow,  calling  for  a  glass  of  English  ale  (which  by  the 
way  I  detest;  it  is  flat  and  tasteless  to  me)  and  a  cigar,  I 
engaged  an  honest  yeoman  in  conversation,  and  told  him  that 
I  understood  that  Stanley  Weyman,  the  then  celebrated  novel- 
ist, author  of  the  "Red  Robe"  and  other  popular  works  of 
fiction,  was  a  native  of  the  town.  He  brightened  up  and  said 
they  were  schoolmates  when  boys,  and  seemed  to  take  great 
pride  in  the  fact.  Further  on,  in  the  tap-room  of  another 
inn,  I  spent  an  interesting  and  instructive  hour.  Unlike  some 
American  barrooms,  you  hear  no  obscene  talk.  It  would  not 
be  tolerated  for  a  moment,  for  a  woman,  perhaps  the  wife  or 
daughter  of  the  proprietor  himself,   presides  over  the  beer 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  241 

cask.  There  is,  however,  plenty  of  loud  talk  and  acrimon- 
ious discussion.  On  this  occasion  a  man  under  middle  age 
called  for  his  ale  and  stood  at  the  bar  drinking  it.  He  was 
rather  better  dressed  than  the  others,  and  carried  a  whip  in 
his  hand  and  from  what  was  heard  I  judged  him  to  be  a 
farmer  of  the  higher  class,  or  some  sort  of  a  petty  squire. 
As  the  discussion  waxed  warm,  our  squire  became  more  and 
more  excited.  He  had  one  sturdy  opponent,  and  as  the  argu- 
ment increased  in  warmth,  language  was  indulged  in  and 
epithets  hurled  by  each  at  the  other  that,  in  an  American  bar- 
room, would  inevitably  have  led  to  violence.  I  became  very 
uneasy,  and  thought  it  about  time  to  go,  but  to  my  surprise 
the  violence  of  the  encounter  subsided  almost  as  quickly  as  it 
had  begun,  and  the  two  disputants  parted  seemingly  the  best 
of  friends.  I  noted  that  at  the  height  of  the  discussion,  the 
bar-maid  kept  on  with  her  work  as  if  nothing  was  happening, 
and  the  other  inmates  continued  their  smoking  as  placidly  as 
if  there  was  no  wordy  fire  and  brimstone  in  the  air. 

In  Phillpotts'  "Dartmoor"  novels,  one  may  find  such  wordy 
wars  duplicated  time  and  time  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

IN  England  and  in  all  the  older  countries  men  plod  along  in 
the  footsteps  of  their  fathers,  generation  after  generation, 
with  little  possibility  and  therefore  with  little  thought  of 
entering  a  higher  social  grade.  In  our  country,  however,  with 
the  ever  present  thought  of  the  possibility  of  stepping  higher, 
few  are  content  to  rest,  and  the  race  of  life  becomes  all  haste 
and  unrest.  While  in  the  shop  of  a  saddler,  in  one  of  the 
rural  towns  of  England,  I  engaged  the  proprietor  and  his  son 
in  conversation  as  they  sat  working  upon  the  same  bench. 
The  grandson,  a  little  fellow  of  five,  was  running  in  and  out, 
and  I  remarked  that  he,  too,  perhaps,  would  follow  the  same 
trade.  "And  why  not?"  said  the  old  man;  "my  father  and 
grandfather  worked  and  died  here,  and  what  is  good  enough 
for  us  is  good  enough  for  him."  Imagine,  if  one  can,  five 
generations  in  America,  content  to  work  in  the  same  poor 
shop  and  along  the  same  restricted  lines.  Far  less  rapid 
would  have  been  our  progress  in  all  material  developments 
if  our  energy  had  been  thus  conserved;  and  yet  the  quiet  and 
content  of  that  humble  home,  handed  down  from  father  to 
son  since  before  the  independence  of  America,  will  always 
remain  a  pleasant  memory. 

My  journey  to  London  in  a  third-class  car,  patronized  by 
most  sensible  Englishmen  and  by  all  sensible  American  tour- 
ists, hence  patronized  by  comparatively  few  well-to-do  Amer- 
ican travelers  of  the  nouveaux  riche  class,  was  full  of  novelty 
to  eyes  still  new  to  English  scenes  and  English  ways.  As  we 
swept  through  a  portion  of  Devon,  I  thought  of  it  as  ground 
made  classic  by  the  genius  of  Hardy;  and  as  the  graceful 
towers  of  Salisbury  came  in  sight,  by  a  similar  association  of 
ideas,  Trollope  and  his  ever-charming  tales  of  old  cathedral 
towns  was  in  my  mind.  In  all  my  chance  association  with  the 
English  people  I  found  them  almost  universally  courteous  and 
considerate.  My  bandaged  hand  attracted  the  attention  of  a 
fine-looking,  intelligent  gentleman  in  the  compartment,  and  he 
politely  inquired  as  to  the  nature  of  my  injury.  From  un- 
mistakable signs,  without  doubt  he  knew  that  I  was  an  Amer- 

242 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  243 

ican,  and  when  I  told  him  I  was  from  New  York,  he  evinced 
real  interest,  as  evidenced  by  many  questions.  He  pointed  out 
some  places  of  note  along  the  route,  and  we  parted  regretfully 
at  the  end  of  the  journey. 

I  spent  the  first  night  at  the  Victoria  Hotel,  and  found 
quite  a  number  of  my  fellow  practitioners  of  New  York  there. 
Among  these  was  Dr.  Herman  Biggs,  the  celebrated  pathol- 
ogist, and  later  head  of  the  State  Board  of  Health,  and  Dr. 
Leonard  Weber,  a  well  known  practitioner  and  neurologist. 
Weber  was  a  German,  and  was  on  his  way  home  from  the 
place  of  his  nativity.  He  said  that  he  visited  the  celebrated 
savant,  Erb,  and  that  the  latter,  referring  to  things  medical 
in  this  country,  said  that  it  was  too  bad  that  both  Beard  and 
Rockwell  had  passed  away.  Weber  replied  that  Beard  had 
gone  years  before,  but  that  Rockwell  was  very  much  alive. 
Even  though  thought  to  be  dead,  I  was  glad  to  be  remem- 
bered at  all  by  so  distinguished  a  foreign  authority.  Because 
of  the  injury  to  my  hand  I  determined  to  spend  the  most  of 
my  time  in  London  and  from  this  center  make  little  trips  here 
and  there,  and  so  took  a  room  and  board  in  Craven  Street, 
just  off  the  Strand.  Directly  opposite  was  a  house  upon  which 
an  inscription  told  that  Franklin  had  lived  therein  during  his 
sojourn  in  London.  I  saw  nothing  of  damp  and  smoky  Lon- 
don. During  my  stay  there  of  nineteen  days  not  a  drop  of 
rain  fell,  nor  was  there  the  slightest  indication  of  fog.  The 
only  rain  I  saw  was  during  my  cycling  trip.  It  was  the  last 
day  of  the  rainy  season  as  our  party  left  Ludlow  for  Here- 
ford, fifteen  miles  away.  How  it  did  rain  that  day !  Lower- 
ing, as  we  started  out,  the  drops  soon  began  to  fall,  and  those 
fifteen  miles  were  made  over  muddy  roads  and  in  the  face  of 
one  of  the  worst  rain-storms  that  we  had  ever  breasted. 
Thenceforth  the  skies  were  clear,  barring  those  floating 
moisture  clouds  so  characteristic  of  the  British  Isles. 

Everything  combined,  therefore,  to  render  my  stay  in  Lon- 
don suitable  for  thorough  and  pleasurable  sightseeing.  Every- 
day found  me  in  touch  with  things  both  new  and  old,  but 
everything  was  new  to  my  experience,  and  as  compared  to  my 
own  country  everything  savored  of  the  old,  of  the  long  ago. 
The  Tower,  the  Abbey,  Houses  of  Parliament,  the  old  Curi- 
osity Shop  and  other  scenes  of  Dickens's  immortal  stories,  a 


244  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

night  ride  to  the  Whitechapel  district,  and  daily  walks  through 
innumerable  streets  where  the  sights  and  the  life  were  all 
novel,  were  a  continual  source  of  pleasure.  One  of  my  most 
cherished  experiences  was  a  visit  to  Chelsea,  and  the  former 
home  of  Carlyle.  The  house  is  always  open  for  inspection, 
and  I  entered  it  almost  with  reverence,  for  although  not  with- 
out his  faults,  yet  here  had  lived  and  wrought  for  many  years 
a  great  intelligence,  yea,  a  great  soul  who  left  an  impress  not 
alone  upon  the  thought  of  England,  but  upon  that  of  the 
world.  To  my  liking  he  was  the  greatest  prose  poet  of  the 
century,  if  not  of  many  centuries.  The  notes  of  high  and  lofty 
thought  that  he  has  struck  in  his  incomparable  essays,  in  his 
"Past  and  Present,"  and  "Heroes,  Hero  Worship  and  the 
Heroic  in  History"  and  other  imperishable  works,  will  never 
be  without  their  blessed  and  strengthening  influence  upon  the 
soul  of  humanity.  "When  a  book,"  says  La  Bruyere,  "raises 
your  spirits,  and  inspires  you  with  noble  and  courageous  feel- 
ings, seek  for  no  other  rule  to  judge  the  event  by;  it  is  good 
and  made  by  a  good  workman."  Carlyle  was  denunciatory 
enough.  His  times,  as  indeed  all  times,  call  for  it,  but  his 
clarion  notes  for  reform  carried  conviction  and  stirred  Par- 
liament and  a  sluggish  people  as  never  before. 

And  so  as  I  stood  within  this  shrine,  dedicated  to  him  and 
to  his  great  work  in  the  world,  I  thought  that  this  ex- 
perience alone  was  worth  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic.  To 
quote  his  own  words  in  his  essay  on  Schiller  and  in  reference 
to  the  great  ones  of  earth,  "Such  men,  far  more  than  any 
Alps  or  Colosseums,  are  the  true  world  wonders,  which  it 
concerns  us  to  behold  clearly  and  imprint  forever  on  our  re- 
membrance. Great  men  are  the  fire  pillars  in  this  dark  pil- 
grimage of  mankind;  they  stand  as  heavenly  signs,  ever  living 
witnesses  of  what  has  been,  prophetic  tokens  of  what  may  still 
be,  the  revealed  embodied  Possibilities  of  human  nature." 

I  find  myself  at  last  in  the  very  house,  in  the  very  room,  at 
the  very  desk,  where  the  great  apostle  of  reform  and  of  the 
best  in  human  nature  hurled  forth  his  philippics  and  sarcasm 
against  the  stupid  evils  of  the  day.  There,  too,  was  the  old 
hat  he  wore,  and  the  cane  he  carried  in  his  daily  walks,  and  the 
pen  with  which  he  wrote.  That  Carlyle  was  not  an  adept  in 
acoustics  and  architectural  construction  is  here  found  in  lasting 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  245 

evidence.  He  worked  on  the  top  floor  of  the  house,  but  was 
annoyed  by  the  many  sounds  ascending  from  the  streets.  He, 
therefore,  had  an  inner  partition  placed  all  around  the  upper 
floor,  thus  giving  an  interior  sanctum  where  he  thought  silence 
would  reign.  Alas,  it  was  of  no  use.  The  same  sounds  came 
as  before  to  the  ear  and  the  very  considerable  money  spent 
proved  fruitless. 

A  street  or  two  away  was  the  last  residence  of  George 
Eliot,  whose  first  work  that  gave  her  fame,  "Adam  Bede,"  I 
read  when  little  more  than  a  boy,  and  whose  every  work  there- 
after I  perused  with  great,  if  not  equal  interest.  As  I  passed 
and  then  repassed  the  gateway  I  tried  to  visualize  the  per- 
sonality of  this  gifted  woman,  as,  at  her  Sunday  evening 
receptions,  she  chatted  with  the  interesting  people  who 
thronged  her  rooms.  When  Dr.  Beard  was  first  in  London, 
interviewing  some  of  the  great  ones  of  the  town,  with  but 
twenty-five  cents  in  his  pocket,  he  had  the  opportunity  of  at- 
tending one  of  these  Eliot  receptions.  I  was  immediately 
interested  and  plied  him  with  questions  as  to  the  personality 
of  the  famous  woman  and  his  personal  impressions  and  ex- 
periences. He  replied  that  he  had  not  closely  observed  her, 
having  been  more  interested  in  conversing  with  Mr.  Huxley 
and  other  scientific  men  present.  When,  however,  I  expati- 
ated on  her  literary  fame,  he  expressed  regret  that  he  had  not 
used  to  better  advantage  his  opportunity  to  get  into  closer 
touch  with  so  renowned  a  woman.  Of  course,  he  knew  of 
George  Eliot's  fame,  but  largely  read  as  he  was  in  some  of  the 
best  literature  of  the  world,  I  doubt  whether  he  had  ever  read 
a  book  of  hers.  Fiction  did  not  much  attract  him,  nor 
did  he  have  for  it  much  regard,  although  he  himself  in  his 
early  days  once  wrote  a  novel  which  he  never  attempted  to 
publish. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

IF  one  wishes  to  see  his  friends,  let  him  go  abroad.  This 
half  truth  was  impressed  upon  me  by  my  own  experience. 
I  have  referred  to  the  various  professional  friends  that  I 
met  at  the  hotel  on  the  day  of  my  arrival  in  London.  A  few 
days  later  in  a  chemist's  shop  on  the  Strand,  whom  should  I 
run  across  but  my  old  college  mate  and  sometime  roommate, 
the  well-known  Indian,  Oronhyatecha  of  Toronto,  whom  I 
have  already  mentioned.  I  had  not  met  him  for  many  years, 
and  while  it  was  pleasant  to  see  another  familiar  face,  yet  our 
greetings  were  pleasantly  perfunctory  instead  of  genially  cor- 
dial. He  was  conducting  a  touring  party  of  "Royal  For- 
esters," and  introduced  me  to  an  attractive  young  girl  as  his 
secretary.  Other  old  friends  I  met,  but  the  fact  that  my 
nephew  was  then  residing  in  London  took  away,  in  a  measure, 
the  sense  of  loneliness  which  occasionally  came  over  me. 

One  evening  especially  I  recall.  After  a  day  of  sightsee- 
ing, I  had  returned  to  my  quarters,  and  after  supper,  had  gone 
to  my  room.  Suddenly  a  profound  feeling  of  loneliness  and 
nostalgia  stole  over  me,  a  half-frightened  feeling  at  the 
thought  of  the  vast  waste  of  waters  that  separated  me  from 
those  best  loved.  I  was  wide  awake,  in  no  mood  for  bed,  and 
finding  the  dreariness  almost  unbearable,  I  rushed  from  the 
house,  hailed  a  'bus,  which  in  due  course  landed  me  at  the  lodg- 
ing of  my  nephew.  It  was  rather  late,  and  my  visit  was  un- 
expected, but  my  reception  was  none  the  less  cordial.  An 
hour's  chat  calmed  my  perturbed  spirits,  and  I  returned  to 
my  room  and  to  a  night  of  quiet  sleep.  With  him  and  his  chum, 
we  went  the  following  day  by  coach  to  Hampton  Court  and 
with  keen  enjoyment  explored  that  historic  relic  of  the  times 
of  Henry  and  Wolsey.  Windsor  Castle,  Eton,  Stratford-on- 
Avon,  Kenilworth,  Warwick  Castle,  stock  places  of  interest 
were  visited,  but  nothing  charmed  me  more  than  a  visit  to 
Stoke  Pogis  and  the  old  church  and  churchyard,  the  scene  of 
Gray's  Elegy.  The  Yew  tree  was  there  standing,  old,  alone, 
and  suggestive.  I  questioned  the  driver  who  drove  me  along 
the    pleasantly   shaded   winding    road    to    the    place,    but   he 

246 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  247 

seemed,  strangely  enough,  not  to  know  the  name  of  the  poet 
or  of  the  poem  itself.    So  much  for  the  complacency  of  human 
ignorance.     I  found  Goldsmith's  memorial  just  off  the  busy 
Strand  and  riotous  Fleet  Street,  and  was  much  attracted  by 
the  fine  courtesy  of  a  gentleman  of  whom  I  inquired  the  way. 
He  had  a  book  under  his  arm  and  seemed  to  me,  I  know  not 
why,  as  if  he  might  be  a  barrister.     There  were  some  wind- 
ings, and  with  great  good  nature  and  interest  he  stopped  to 
give  me  the  directions,  but  finally  said,  "it  is  not  out  of  my 
way,"  although  it  was,  "and  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to 
save  you  the  trouble  of  hunting  it  up."    Not  a  few  such  simple 
courtesies  were  proffered  by  both  men  and  women,  and  made 
upon  my  mind  a  most  favorable  impression.     Emerson  some- 
where  says   that   "England   is   the   best   of   actual   nations." 
Whatever  we  Americans  have  of  culture,  of  energy,  of  mor- 
ality, of  strength,  has  come  to  us,  I  like  to  believe,  more  from 
the  English  than  from  any  other  people.     The  Englishman  is 
slow  to  act  upon  suggestions,  even  though  they  seem  to  be  ap- 
proved by  every  rational  test.     He  is  exasperatingly  conserva- 
tive, and  will  not  change  a  good  thing  which  has  long  done 
him  service,  for  a  better,  without  long  and  laborious  proof. 
In  business  life  here,  a  letter  of  introduction  is  taken  in  person. 
In  England  it  would  be  sent  by  post,  and  a  reply  awaited  desig- 
nating some  time  and  place  for  the  desired  meeting,  and  the 
patience  of  the  eager  applicant  is  often  sorely  put  to  test  be- 
fore he  accomplishes  his   object.     The   Englishman  seldom 
hurries,  either  in  his  office,  on  the  street,  or  at  his  meals.    We 
suffer  in  this  country,  more  than  in  any  other,  from  a  disease 
termed  "neurasthenia,"  the  so-called  American  nervousness, 
which  is  in  reality  nervelessness,  and  a  potent  factor  in  its  pro- 
duction is  the  hurry  and  worry  of  professional  and  business 
life  on  this  side  of  the  ocean.    The  English  have  acquired  the 
virtue  of  deliberation.     All  business  is  conducted  in  a  quiet 
and  leisurely  way  that  seems  to  an  American  like  child's  play, 
but  it  is  in  dead  earnest  all  the  same.    An  English  banker  will 
be  found  in  some  building  not  at  all  like  an  American  bank, 
and  with  very  few  clerks  in  sight.    Nobody  rushes  breathlessly 
in  and  out,  yet  the  amount  of  business  transacted  daily  in  that 
dingy  little  building  is  enormous. 

Two  important  causative  factors,  it  seems  to  me,  underlie 


248  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

these  differences  in  English  and  American  traits,  the  first  of 
which  is  climate.  An  American  in  England,  for  example,  is 
frequently  surprised  to  find  that  he  is  able  to  indulge  in  malt 
and  spirituous  liquors  to  an  extent  he  would  never  attempt  in 
his  own  country;  while  the  Englishman,  if  for  any  time  a  resi- 
dent here,  finds  to  his  cost  that  excesses  in  eating  and  drinking 
impose  a  heavier  tax  upon  the  conservative  processes  of  the 
body  than  in  the  humid  atmosphere  of  his  insular  home.  A 
gentleman  who  has  made  frequent  visits  to  England  tells  me 
that  on  his  pedestrian  excursions  through  the  country  he  was 
accustomed  to  drink  the  common  English  ale  with  impunity, 
while  in  this  country,  under  the  same  conditions  of  exercise, 
he  can  take  but  a  comparatively  small  amount  without  un- 
pleasant results.  The  Englishman  is  less  nervous  than  his 
American  cousin,  and  therefore  more  deliberate,  not  because 
he  is  less  abstemious  in  his  eating  and  drinking,  but  because 
excesses  are  less  hurtful,  in  certain  directions,  in  his  climate 
than  in  ours.  No  more  exact  delineator  of  certain  English 
types  and  habits  has  ever  written  than  Anthony  Trollope. 
His  "Man  about  Town,"  with  his  enormous  capacity  for 
brandy  and  soda,  is  a  unique  creation  in  a  way,  and  quite  puts 
to  shame  the  comparatively  mild  potations  of  his  American 
counterpart.  While  the  Englishman  does  not  escape  the  in- 
evitable consequences  of  such  folly,  the  punishment  falls  not 
so  much  upon  the  nervous  system  as  upon  other  organs. 
With  the  will,  perhaps,  to  indulge  as  freely  as  the  Englishman, 
the  American  succumbs  to  alcoholic  excesses  that  are  rela- 
tively far  less.  As  a  second  causative  factor  in  the  produc- 
tion of  these  mental  and  physical  characteristics  of  the  Eng- 
lish and  American,  I  would  indicate  their  different  business 
and  social  environments,  as  illustrated  by  my  recent  reference 
to  a  saddler  and  his  descendants. 

Notwithstanding  the  almost  constant  humidity  of  the  Eng- 
lish atmosphere,  it  is  a  very  different  condition  from  what  we 
term  humidity  here.  Both  the  electric  tension  of  the  atmos- 
phere and  the  barometric  pressure  are  higher,  with  a  rela- 
tively less  depressing  influence  upon  the  general  system,  and 
the  extremes  of  heat  and  cold  are  far  less  in  degree.  The 
effects  of  this  moisture-laden  atmosphere  are  seen,  not  only  in 
the  physical  characteristics  of  the  people,  but  in  the  aspect  of 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  249 

nature.  The  grasses  are  more  luxuriant  and  of  a  deeper 
green,  while  the  trees  show  a  richer  foliage.  Centuries  of  cul- 
tivation and  care  have  increased  the  fertility  of  the  land,  and 
the  streams  flow  full  and  clear.  That  this  should  be  so  in  a 
small  island  crowded  with  so  large  a  population,  seems  a  sur- 
prise, but  is  also  explained  by  the  incessant  showers,  and  the 
fact  that  the  people  are  massed  largely  in  towns,  leaving  the 
country  still  delightful  in  its  rural  simplicity. 

To  describe  the  inexhaustible  panorama  of  England's 
varied  history  and  literature  as  it  is  unfolded  in  its  old  cathe- 
drals and  universities,  its  castles  and  abbeys,  its  prisons  and 
palaces,  some  still  triumphant  over  time  and  decay,  others 
magnificent  in  their  ruins,  seems  a  hopeless  task, 
"Soul  to  soul  can  never  teach, 
What  unto  itself  was  taught." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

IN  crossing  the  Channel  on  a  visit  to  Paris,  I  had  another  per- 
sonal opportunity  to  test  the  efficiency  of  the  bromide  treat- 
ment for  seasickness.  The  accommodations  were  so  vile 
below  that  I  stayed  above  during  all  the  four  hours  of  the 
passage,  walking  the  deck  or  reclining  on  the  comfortless 
benches.  I  was  not  sick,  notwithstanding  the  waters  were 
rather  rough.  I  might  not  have  been  sick  had  the  drug  been 
omitted,  but  the  probability  is  that  my  besetting  idiosyncrasy 
would  not  have  permitted  me  altogether  to  escape.  In  the 
compartment  of  the  train  for  Paris  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  an  Englishman,  a  young  man  of  about  thirty-five,  who  was 
taking  a  short  vacation.  He  was  what  is  termed  an  untrav- 
eled  Englishman,  and  this  was  his  first  trip  outside  his  native 
isle.  He  was  a  fairly  well  educated  and  intelligent  man  and 
evinced  great  curiosity  about  America,  especially  New  York, 
from  which  I  hailed.  After  we  had  become  pretty  well  ac- 
quainted during  the  week,  we  passed  more  or  less  time  to- 
gether, and  he  said:  "You  do  not  seem  like  an  American." 
He  intended  this  as  a  compliment,  but  it  did  not  so  appeal  to 
me,  although  to  him  I  made  no  protest.  His  idea  of  the 
American  had  been  formed  probably  by  the  bold  and  blatant 
manners  that  characterize  so  many  of  the  newly  rich  who 
overrun  the  Old  World.  This  young  man  was  an  excellent 
type  of  the  best  to  be  found  among  the  so-called  middle  class 
in  England.  As  I  was  twenty  years  his  senior,  he  became 
more  or  less  confidential;  told  me  of  his  wife  and  two  children, 
something  about  his  business  and  the  good  comfortable  income 
that  it  yielded.  He  lived  in  Leicester.  On  my  remarking  that 
I  had  not  had  much  opportunity  to  know  about  the  social  life 
of  England,  he  said,  "Doctor,  I  would  like  to  put  you  up  for 
a  few  days."  The  ice  being  thus  broken,  he  urged  me  with 
great  warmth  to  accept  his  invitation.  I  told  him  that  I  ex- 
pected to  meet  friends  on  my  return  to  London,  but  promised, 
if  I  could  come,  to  let  him  know.  I  found  it  not  easy  to  accept 
his  invitation  and  indeed  had  quite  forgotten  about  it,  when  on 
my  way  to  Liverpool  to  take  the  steamer  for  home,  I  stepped 

250 


A  TRIP  ABROAD  251 

from  the  car  at  Leicester  for  a  moment  to  stretch  my  legs. 
Someone  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  turning  I  saw  my 
Paris  companion.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  I  was  there  in 
response  to  his  invitation  and  was  very  warm  in  his  greeting. 
He  had  just  boarded  the  train  to  go  to  a  neighboring  town, 
and  saw  me  from  the  window.  He  expressed  real  disappoint- 
ment when  I  informed  him  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  the 
steamer.  "I  told  my  wife  about  you,"  he  said,  "and  she 
asked  me  why  I  didn't  write  to  you.  Of  course,  I  could  not 
as  I  did  not  know  your  address."  I  have  always  regretted 
that  I  did  not  accept  this  warm-hearted  fellow's  invitation, 
seconded  as  it  was  by  his  excellent  wife.  I  have  even  for- 
gotten his  name.  If  living,  he  would  be  fifty-five  years  of  age, 
just  my  age  at  the  time. 

What  has  become  of  him?  What  has  been  his  career  since? 
If  living  he  would  have  been  rather  too  old  for  the  late  war, 
but  how  about  his  children?     I  recall  that  he  spoke  of  them. 

Recrossing  the  ocean  I  was  glad  again  to  be  at  home  and 
among  those  I  loved.  The  sad  news  of  my  mother's  death 
was  then  told  me.  I  had  gone  to  her  home  in  Connecticut, 
just  before  sailing,  to  bid  her  goodbye.  She  had  appeared  to 
be  in  her  usual  health,  but  on  the  day  I  reached  London,  less 
than  two  weeks  thereafter,  she  had  quietly  passed  away,  in 
her  eighty-fourth  year.  Not  only  to  her  own  children  had  she 
been  a  loving  and  faithful  mother,  but  out  of  her  great 
motherly  heart,  all  graciousness  and  tenderness,  she  had 
poured  a  mother's  loving  sympathy,  patience,  and  sacrificing 
service  in  so  rich  a  portion  that  every  pupil  of  my  father's 
school  felt  in  no  little  measure  a  son's  affection  for  her. 


Book  VII 
PERSONAL  SKETCHES 

CHAPTER  XL 

SALMON  P.  CHASE EDWIN  M.  STANTON 

RUTHERFORD  B.   HAYES THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

WHEN  a  boy  at  school  in  the  preparatory  depart- 
ment of  Kenyon  College,  Ohio,  I  first  caught 
a  glimpse  of  three  men  destined  not  only  to 
become  famous  in  our  national  history,  but  to 
achieve  international  distinction  as  well.  With 
these  men  in  after  years  I  had  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  agree- 
able acquaintance.     I  refer  to  Chief  Justice  Salmon  P.  Chase, 
Edwin  M.  Stanton,  and  ex-President  Rutherford  B.  Hayes. 
At  this  time   Mr.   Chase  was  governor  of  Ohio,   and  Mr. 
Hayes  a  rising  lawyer  of  Cincinnati.     Mr.  Hayes  was  a  com- 
paratively recent  graduate  of  the  college,  and  the  two  had 
come  to  attend  the  commencement  exercises,  the  one  by  special 
invitation  as  governor  of  the  state,  the  other  comparatively 
unknown,  yet  none  the  less  welcome.     The  governor  was  the 
central  figure.     Wherever  he  went,  he  was  followed  by  an 
admiring  crowd,  and  many  predicted  for  him  greater  honors; 
indeed  the  highest  was  confidently  believed  to  be  within  his 
reach.    I  suppose  in  his  wildest  dreams  of  future  advancement, 
our  ever  modest  and  unassuming  Mr.  Hayes,  as  he  sat  with 
the   less   distinguished   alumni   on   the   platform,   never   once 
thought  of  himself  as  a  presidential  possibility;  yet  he  finally 
grasped  the  prize,  while  Mr.  Chase,  with  his  high  ambition 
and  expectation  ever  before  him,   failed  to  reach  the  goal, 
like  those  other  great  statesmen,  Webster,  Clay  and  Blaine. 

Probably  no  college  of  its  size  has  sent  out  more  men  to 
achieve  high  national  reputation  and  international  reputation 
than  Kenyon.  I  have  only  to  mention,  besides  these  three,  the 
names  of  Stanley  Matthews,  Judge  David  Davis  and  Henry 
Winter  Davis,  names  of  which  any  university  might  be  proud. 
It  is  interesting  here  to  note  that  the  Twenty-third  Ohio  In- 

253 


254  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

fantry  had  Mr.  Hayes  for  its  Colonel,  Stanley  Matthews  for 
its  Lieutenant  Colonel  and  William  McKinley  for  its  Major. 
Its  first  Colonel  was  the  celebrated  General  Rosecrans.  Two 
Presidents,  one  of  them  a  Kenyon  man,  a  great  jurist  also  a 
Kenyon  man,  and  an  army  commander  from  the  same  regi- 
ment, is  surely  an  unsual  record,  seldom  matched. 

After  leaving  Mr.  Lincoln's  Cabinet,  Mr.  Chase  was  ap- 
pointed by  that  magnanimous  immortal  (for  Mr.  Chase  was 
not  as  loyal  to  his  chief  as  he  might  have  been)  Chief  Justice 
of  the  United  States.  A  few  years  subsequently  he  suffered 
a  slight  stroke  of  paralysis,  from  which  he  never  fully  recov- 
ered. He  was  sent  to  me  for  treatment,  and  the  month  of  our 
association  was  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  my  life.  Mr. 
Chase  was  a  man  of  magnificent  presence,  somewhat  cold  and 
lepellent  in  his  greeting  to  strangers,  and  yet  on  occasions  of 
an  urbanity  that  was  very  attractive.  His  nature  was  im- 
perious, a  characteristic  that  had  become  accentuated  through 
his  high  positions  and  habits  of  command;  but  it  was  now 
associated  with  an  intense  irritability  from  physical  causes. 
The  first  few  visits  were  quite  unsatisfactory.  My  patient 
was  evidently  suffering  from  much  mental  as  well  as  physical 
depression.  He  seldom  spoke  unless  spoken  to,  and  then  only 
in  monosyllables.  Our  association  was  getting  to  be  exceed- 
ingly monotonous,  and  to  have  a  great  man  as  a  patient  was 
not  quite  as  agreeable  as  I  had  hoped.  One  day  Mr.  Chase 
remarked  that  he  did  not  like  to  sit  in  the  waiting-room  for 
people  to  stare  at  him,  and  asked  if  I  could  not  see  him  at 
some  other  hour.  I  appointed  half  past  twelve,  and  he  was 
promptly  on  hand;  but  in  no  better  or  more  communicative 
humor  than  before.  I  had  tried  on  a  former  visit  to  talk 
about  Kenyon  College  and  our  common  interest  in  it,  and  now 
ventured  to  say  something  about  the  late  Civil  War,  in  which 
I  had  been  an  humble  actor  and  he  a  great  historic  figure. 
But  all  in  vain.  The  next  day  at  12:30  the  Chief  Justice 
failed  to  appear,  but  he  came  at  one  o'clock  while  I  was  en- 
gaged with  another  patient.  He  tapped  vigorously  at  the 
door,  but  I  could  give  no  heed  until  through  with  the  work  in 
hand.  On  entering  the  reception-room  I  found  it  empty,  but 
saw  Mr.  Chase  leaning  against  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  porch 
outside,  his  carriage  gone,  and  he  himself  in  a  seemingly  un- 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  255 

happy  frame  of  mind.  I  joined  him,  and  the  following  con- 
versation ensued: 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Chase."  No  answer.  "Won't  you 
walk  in?" 

"No!" 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  but  you  were  half 
an  hour  behind  your  time,  and  I  had  another  appointment  at 
one." 

"I  won't  wait." 

"Will  you  come  in  tomorrow?" 

"No!" 

"Good  morning,  Sir."  And  with  that  I  withdrew,  very 
sorry  to  have  offended  such  a  distinguished  patient.  A  few 
days  thereafter  I  received  this  laconic  note :  "When  I  was  at 
your  office  on  Friday  last  I  was  impatient,  and,  I  fear,  rude. 
I  regret  it.  If  your  engagements  take  you  down  this  way  I 
should  be  pleased  to  see  you." 

Now  this  recital  illustrates  how  a  story  only  partly  told 
may  give  give  a  totally  wrong  impression.  My  first  experi- 
ences seem  to  show  a  man  unreasonably  irritable  and  alto- 
gether disagreeable.  But  this  was  not  the  real  Mr.  Chase. 
He  was  fighting  against  almost  overwhelming  odds.  There 
was  a  physical  basis  for  all  this  bad  temper,  and  when  he 
realized  his  discourtesy,  the  greatness  and  inherent  nobility 
of  his  character  reasserted  itself  and  he  made  the  "amende 
honorable."  On  the  following  day  I  went  to  the  Brevoort 
House,  where  he  was  stopping.  He  received  me  very  cor- 
dially, in  marked  contrast  to  his  previous  greetings,  introduced 
me  to  his  two  daughters,  Mrs.  Sprague  and  Miss  Chase,  apol- 
ogizing again,  saying  that  I,  of  course,  had  my  appointments 
which  must  be  kept.  After  this  there  was  no  more  trouble 
with  Mr.  Chase.  He  was  altogether  agreeable,  inviting  me 
to  drive  on  several  occasions,  and  conversing  freely  on  many 
subjects.  He  told  me  about  the  beginnings  of  Kenyon  Col- 
lege, and  how  its  founder,  his  uncle  Bishop  Chase,  used  to 
enforce  discipline  by  caning  the  boys,  after  the  good  (?)  old- 
fashioned  English  method.  He  was  rather  reticent  about 
Mr.  Lincoln  and  the  cabinet  in  which  he  had  been  secretary 
of  the  treasury.  I  did  not  press  the  matter,  for  even  then  I 
knew   of   the   antagonisms,    personal    and   political,    of   that 


256  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

period.  Of  his  early  life  and  struggles  he  was  fond  of  talk- 
ing. He  said  that  he  had  taught  school  in  Washington  when 
a  young  man.  He  knew  Webster  and  Clay  and  most  of  the 
eminent  men  of  that  day,  and  in  a  sort  of  musing  tone  re- 
marked that  "perhaps  he  might  have  accomplished  more 
through  this  acquaintance  if  his  disposition  had  not  been  quite 
so  retiring."  I  replied,  "Mr.  Chase,  it  seems  to  me  that  a 
man  who  has  been  governor  of  a  great  state,  secretary  of 
the  treasury  during  a  great  war,  and  chief  justice  of  the 
United  States,  has  accomplished  about  as  much  in  life  and  for 
his  country  as  most  men."  He  made  no  reply,  for  even  then 
he  was  ambitious  for  the  presidency,  and  his  friends,  and  espe- 
cially his  daughter,  Mrs.  Sprague,  were  working  strenuously 
for  his  nomination.  With  what  admiration  and  patriotic 
emotion  had  I  read  the  great  speech  of  Webster  in  reply  to 
Hayne,  and  my  patient's  description  of  the  scene  was  thrill- 
ingly  interesting.  He  said  it  was  the  greatest  speech  he  had 
ever  listened  to,  and  unequalled  in  the  impression  it  made, 
save  perhaps  by  that  of  Patrick  Henry,  and  Burke  in  the 
impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings.  The  old  Senate  Chamber, 
where  the  speech  was  delivered,  is  now  the  Chamber  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  and  "my  seat,"  said  Mr.  Chase,  "is  almost 
over  the  spot  where  Webster  stood,  and  I  often  re-people 
the  scene." 

Mrs.  Gardner  G.  Howland,  who  was  also  coming  to  see 
me  at  this  time,  one  day  remarked:  "My  father  wishes  to  see 
you,  and  I  shall  bring  him  with  me  tomorrow  morning."  At 
the  time  appointed,  in  walked  a  hale,  hearty  old  gentleman, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  with  quick,  nervous  step,  who  without 
any  introduction,  said  in  a  loud,  strong  voice :  "Doctor,  I 
am  ninety-five  years  of  age,  and  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  saw 
Benjamin  Franklin  flying  his  kite  to  bring  the  electricity  down 
from  the  clouds.  I  often  played  in  his  study  with  his  grand- 
children, and  I  remember  how  heartily  he  laughed  on  one 
occasion  when  he  gave  us  all  a  shock  of  electricity.  My 
father's  pew  was  immediately  in  front  of  George  Washing- 
ton's in  Christ  Church,  Philadelphia,  and  I  remember  well 
how  the  General  held  me  on  his  knee.  I  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  Daniel  Webster  and  William  Wirt," — and  more 
than  that  I  now  fail  to  recall. 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  257 

This  gentleman,  himself  an  able  lawyer  of  Philadelphia, 
was  of  the  well-known  family  of  the  Maryland  Merediths, 
and  his  brother  was,  I  believe,  secretary  of  state  in  the  cab- 
inet of  one  of  the  earlier  presidents.  On  speaking  to  Mr. 
Chase  of  Mr.  Meredith,  he  was  much  interested  and  expressed 
a  desire  to  meet  him,  for,  although  they  had  never  met, 
both  of  them  had  been  intimate  with  Webster,  and  especially 
with  William  Wirt,  the  great  jurist.  The  following  Sunday 
morning,  as  I  was  crossing  Washington  Park,  I  met  Mr.  Chase 
walking  slowly  and  scanning  the  houses.  He  said  he  was 
looking  up  Mr.  Meredith,  and  I  was  able  to  point  out  the 
house  to  him. 

It  is  something  in  these  modern  days  to  have  met  a  man 
who  had  been  thrown  in  intimate  association  not  only  with 
such  men  as  Webster,  Clay  and  Wirt,  but  who  even  knew 
Franklin  and  Washington.  How  it  bridges  the  centuries ;  and 
once  in  speaking  to  the  children  of  a  public  school  on  a  "Wash- 
ington day,"  I  was  able  to  interest  and  amuse  them  by  saying 
that,  if  they  had  never  seen  Washington,  they  had  at  least  seen 
a  man  who  knew  a  man  who  knew  not  only  Washington,  but 
Franklin,  too. 

The  incident  of  my  aged  acquaintance,  who  once  sat  upon 
the  knee  of  Washington,  recalls  the  interesting  episode  told 
by  Washington  Irving  to  George  Haven  Putnam,  when  the 
latter  was  a  boy  and  visiting  with  his  father  at  Sunnyside. 
Washington,  on  horseback,  once  passed  the  Irving  home  in 
lower  New  York,  and  his  little  namesake  was  lifted  toward 
him  and  a  blessing  asked  and  given.  Mr.  Irving  further 
remarked  to  his  young  listener,  to  his  mystification,  that  he 
could  not  now  put  his  finger  on  the  spot  touched  by  Washing- 
ton. Young  Putnam,  asking  his  father  for  an  explanation  of 
this  cryptic  statement,  received  answer:  "Why,  stupid,  don't 
you  know  he  wears  a  wig?"  As  this  little  incident  shows  his 
humorous  side,  so  does  another  told  me  unfold  quite  another : 

Washington  Irving's  great-nephew,  once  under  my  profes- 
sional care,  related  the  story.  When  a  lad  he  was  a  visitor 
at  the  house  of  his  great  relative  in  Tarrytown,  and,  during 
the  absence  of  his  uncle,  ventured  into  his  study.  While  ex- 
amining the  things  upon  the  writing  table  and  handling  books 
and  papers,  he  was  startled  by  a  stinging  stroke.     It  was  from 


258  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

the  cane  of  Irving.  He  had  unexpectedly  returned,  and  fol- 
lowed up  the  blow  by  a  command  to  the  "young  rascal"  to 
"get  out,"  with  a  warning  not  to  be  found  there  again. 

My  acquaintance  with  ex-President  Hayes  began  in  this 
wise :  Entering  a  car  at  the  Grand  Central  Station,  on  my 
way  to  Tarrytown,  I  found  but  few  vacant  seats,  and  halting 
before  one,  the  occupant  of  the  other  half  looked  up  with  a 
pleasant  smile  and  with  a  motion  as  if  to  make  room  for  me. 
Mr.  Hayes  had  just  completed  his  presidential  term,  and  I 
was  so  struck  with  the  resemblance  of  my  neighbor  to  the 
ex-President,  that,  after  exchanging  a  few  words,  I  spoke  of 
it,  and  asked  if  he  had  never  been  mistaken  for  him.  With  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  he  said,  "My  name  is  Hayes."  I 
expressed  my  pleasure  at  meeting  him,  especially  as  I  had  the 
honor  of  being  an  alumnus  of  the  same  college.  "Oh,  you 
are  an  old  Kenyon  boy,  are  you?"  And  he  began  immediately 
to  talk  about  the  old  college  and  college  days.  At  the  next 
station  Mrs.  Rockwell  joined  me,  and,  on  being  introduced  to 
Mr.  Hayes,  was  in  turn  introduced  to  Mrs.  Hayes,  who  was 
seated  alone  just  behind  her  husband.  In  the  course  of  the 
conversation  I  remarked:  "Mr.  Hayes,  you  and  I  are  alike  in 
one  respect.  Our  wives  are  Methodists  and  we  are  Episco- 
palians," which  gave  him  the  opportunity  for  the  apt  response, 
"And  like  myself,  I  suppose,  you  go  with  the  one  who  has  the 
more  religion." 

As  a  member  of  the  Loyal  Legion,  of  which  Mr.  Hayes 
subsequently  became  the  head,  I  had  occasional  opportunities 
thereafter  to  meet  him,  and  his  greeting  was  always  unaffect- 
edly cordial.  It  has  been  the  habit  among  some  to  decry  Mr. 
Hayes  as  a  "fraudulent  president,"  as  an  accident,  as  a  man 
of  little  force  of  character  and  wanting  in  ability.  They  who 
have  thus  spoken  could  never  have  known  the  man,  or  they 
have  been  actuated  by  the  narrowest  sort  of  partisan  politics. 
While  not  a  great  man  perhaps,  as  measured  by  the  standard 
of  some  of  our  greatest  statesmen,  yet  he  was  a  man  of  pro- 
nounced talents,  excellent  judgment,  and  firmness  of  purpose. 
His  addresses  to  the  Commandery  were  well  expressed,  finely 
delivered  and  models  of  good  sense.  He  was  an  honest  man 
with  a  heart,  and  his  whole  career  illustrates  and  emphasizes 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  259 

the  fact  that  goodness,  nobility  of  character,  without  which 
there  is  no  true  greatness,  is  after  all  the  only  real  thing;  and 
in  the  last  analysis  the  world  surely  recognizes  this.  The 
strength  and  beauty  of  his  character  were  well  illustrated  at 
the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  Loyal  Legion,  celebrated 
at  Philadelphia  in  1890.  Serious  differences  of  opinion  had 
arisen,  bitter  feelings  had  been  engendered,  and  a  stormy 
session  was  threatened.  The  storm  indeed  broke  and  no  one 
could  foresee  its  results,  when  Mr.  Hayes,  with  infinite  tact 
and  perfect  knowledge  of  every  phase  of  the  subject,  poured 
oil  on  the  troubled  waters,  and  brought  order  out  of  chaos. 
Undoubtedly  the  halo  that  encompassed  the  personality  of  a 
former  head  of  the  nation  had  its  weight;  but  I  do  not  forget 
the  ease  and  grace  of  his  manner  and  the  soundness  of  his 
contentions. 

Hayes  and  Cleveland  were  quite  different  types  of  men. 
The  former  was  more  refined,  better  educated,  far  more 
genial,  less  abrupt  and  more  approachable.  But  they  were  the 
same  in  sincerity  and  unassailable  integrity.  This  was  the 
bond  that  united  Mr.  Cleveland  to  Mr.  Hayes.  Of  different 
political  faiths,  the  former  followed  the  latter  in  the  White 
House.  Their  liking  for  each  other  was  based  on  mutual  re- 
spect, and  when  Mr.  Hayes  died,  Mr.  Cleveland  journeyed 
to  a  distant  state  to  be  present  at  the  obsequies.  It  was  no 
perfunctory  duty,  but  prompted  by  the  highest  admiration  for 
a  noble  character. 

That  other  famous  son  of  Kenyon,  Edwin  M.  Stanton,  did 
not  complete  his  college  course.  I  well  remember  when  he 
came  to  Gambier  in  1859  t0  enter  his  son,  Edwin  M.,  Jr.,  in 
the  class  of  which  I  was  a  member.  The  father  had  recently 
defended  General  Sickles  for  the  murder  of  Key,  and  his  rep- 
utation had  become  nation-wide.  I  remember  so  well  his 
stocky  figure  and  bushy  beard,  as  he  strolled  with  his  son 
along  the  quiet  walks  of  the  campus.  We  had  pledged  the 
younger  Stanton  to  the  Greek  letter  society  of  which  I  was  a 
member,  and  had  dined  and  wined  him  in  honor  of  the  event. 
He  was  considered  an  especially  valuable  acquisition,  but  we 
were  doomed  to  disappointment.  His  father  vetoed  the  elec- 
tion, and  the  son  finished  his  course  without  connecting  him- 


26o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

self  with  any  fraternity.  We  occupied  adjoining  rooms  in 
Ascension  Hall,  and  I  found  him  to  be,  like  his  father,  of 
strong  character  and  high  ability.  He  stood  easily  at  the  head 
of  his  class,  and  had  no  competitor  for  the  valedictory.  No 
son,  however,  could  well  be  more  unlike  a  father  in  tempera- 
ment. As  all  the  world  knows,  the  great  War  Secretary  was 
harsh  and  uncompromising,  often  seemingly  to  the  point  of 
brutality;  while  his  son  was  as  genial  a  spirit  as  ever  the  sun 
shone  upon.  It  was  very  well  understood  by  those  who  knew 
him  that  during  the  war  he  was  quite  overrun  with  petitions 
and  requests  from  old  college  mates,  and  therefore,  although 
I  had  passed  through  Washington  a  number  of  times  during 
my  army  career,  I  had  never  called  on  him.  Soon  after  the 
close  of  the  war,  I  again  found  myself  in  Washington  with 
the  Colonel  of  my  regiment,  partly  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
some  information  as  to  the  date  of  our  discharge.  The  pres- 
sure on  every  department  was  so  great  that  the  Colonel  tried 
in  vain  to  get  an  interview  with  General  Vincent,  who  alone 
could  give  us  information;  and  so  I  determined  to  make  an 
effort  myself.  At  the  War  Department  I  sent  my  card  to 
young  Stanton,  who  received  me  cordially  and  expressed  his 
wonder  that  I  had  not  called  upon  him  before,  at  the  same 
time  glancing  at  my  shoulder-straps  and  offering  congratula- 
tions at  my  advancement.  He  asked  for  my  regiment,  and 
when  I  mentioned  the  Sixth  Ohio  Cavalry,  he  said:  "Well, 
let  me  see  what  is  said  about  the  Sixth  Ohio  Cavalry."  He 
selected  a  volume  from  among  a  vast  collection  in  the  room, 
and  opening  it,  read  to  this  effect: 

"The  Sixth  Ohio  Cavalry,  a  fine  fighting  regiment,  but 
somewhat  lax  in  discipline."  This  was  or  had  been  quite 
true.  The  regiment  was,  first  and  last,  in  fifty-two  engage- 
ments, and  was  never  found  wanting;  but,  as  in  so  many  vol- 
unteer organizations,  its  former  Colonel  was  friend  and 
neighbor  to  many  of  the  men.  He  was  fraternal  and  familiar 
with  the  boys,  and,  although  the  bravest  of  the  brave  in  battle, 
took  things  easy  in  camp  and  on  the  march.  This  accurate 
registration  of  the  characteristics  of  the  thousands  of  regi- 
ments that  made  up  the  Union  army  was  a  revelation. 

When  Theodore  Roosevelt  was  appointed  one  of  the  police 
commissioners  of  New  York  City  I  wrote  him  a  note  of  con- 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  261 

gratulation,  saying  that  in  looking  over  one  of  my  old  case 
books  I  came  across  this  entry,  "Theodore  Roosevelt,  a  bright 
precocious  boy,  aged  twelve,"  adding  that  I  well  remembered 
how  intelligent  were  his  interrogations,  and  that  I  had  re- 
marked to  my  partner,  the  late  Dr.  Geo.  M.  Beard,  that  "the 
little  fellow  ought  to  make  his  mark  in  the  world;  but  the  dif- 
ficulty is,  he  has  a  rich  father."  I  had  not  seen  Mr.  Roosevelt 
since  as  a  lad  he  came  to  my  office,  but  I  remembered  well 
some  things  that  he  said,  and  I  had  followed  his  career  with 
the  greatest  interest  since  his  entrance  into  public  life.  He 
was  an  inquisitive  lad,  in  the  sense  that  his  mind  was  always  on 
the  alert  for  some  new  fact  or  explanation.  I  have  often  had 
boys  ask  ordinary  questions  about  electricity,  but  this  boy 
wanted  to  know  its  "nature"  and  the  principles  of  its  thera- 
peutic use.  If  I  had  known  him  then  as  well  as  the  world 
knows  him  now,  the  handicap  of  riches  would  have  seemed 
a  trifling  obstacle  for  the  leader  of  the  Rough  Riders  to  over- 
come. 

To  the  letter  that  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Roosevelt  I  received 
promptly  the  following  reply:  "You  are  very  good  indeed  to 
have  written  to  me,  and  I  took  great  pleasure  in  showing  your 
letter  to  my  wife.  I  now  have  five  children  of  my  own.  Yes, 
I  do  remember  about  the  electrical  instrument  now,  although 
I  had  forgotten  it  entirely  until  your  letter  revived  my 
memory.  I  assure  you  your  letter  gave  me  most  genuine 
pleasure,  and  I  much  appreciate  it." 

Thereafter  I  did  not  resist  the  impulse  to  offer  my  congratu- 
lations to  Mr.  Roosevelt  on  every  occasion  of  his  political 
advancement.  Replying  to  a  note  of  mine  on  his  return  from 
the  Spanish-American  War,  in  which  I  referred  to  my  friend, 
General  Chaffee,  he  wrote:  "Chaffee  is  a  trump  all  the  way 
through."  Some  years  later  he  signed  the  commission  of  his 
former  comrade  in  arms  and  superior  as  Lieutenant  General 
and  Chief  of  Staff,  thus  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the 
United  States  Army  elevating  to  its  chief  command  one  who 
had  joined  it  as  a  private  soldier. 

At  a  dinner  of  the  Military  Order  of  the  Loyal  Legion, 
shortly  after  the  close  of  the  Spanish  war,  I  was  in  conversa- 
tion with  the  late  Colonel  Asa  Bird  Gardiner,  when  Colonel 


262  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

Roosevelt  was  announced  and  was  received  with  acclamation. 
He  was  then  candidate  for  governor.  Colonel  Gardiner  im- 
mediately left  the  room  and  his  unfinished  dinner,  saying  that 
the  affair  was  a  campaign  trick.  When  Colonel  Roosevelt 
was  told  of  the  occurrence  at  the  time,  he  good  humoredly 
repeated  this  nursery  rhyme : 

"Little  Miss  Muffet 
Sat  on  a  tuffet, 

Eating  of  curds  and  whey. 
There  came  a  big  spider 
And  sat  down  beside  her, 

And  frightened  Miss  Muffet  away." 

During  his  term  as  Governor  I  wrote  to  say  that  I  should 
be  in  Albany  on  a  certain  day,  and  with  his  permission  would 
like  to  call  and  renew  our  acquaintance.  After  sending  in 
my  card  on  the  day  appointed,  Colonel  Treadwell,  the  secre- 
tary, came  to  me  and  wanted  to  know  if  it  was  on  business 
that  I  wished  to  see  the  Governor,  adding  that  it  was  the  last 
day  of  the  legislative  session,  and  that  he  was  quite  over- 
whelmed with  affairs.  I  replied  that  my  call  was  social  only, 
and  I  handed  him  Mr.  Roosevelt's  note.  When  in  a  few 
moments  I  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  busy  execu- 
tive, I  realized  that  it  was  indeed  an  unfortunate  moment  for 
a  social  call.  The  large  room  was  literally  filled  with  men, 
and  the  scene  presented  was  one  of  bustling  activity.  Mr. 
Roosevelt,  who  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
greeted  me  with  a  hearty  handshake  and  immediately  began 
to  talk.  He  spoke  of  their  family  physician,  Dr.  John  T. 
Metcalfe,  about  whom  I  write  further  on  in  these  sketches, 
and  who  had  sent  the  Colonel  as  a  small  boy  to  me  for  special 
treatment.  He  referred  with  some  glee  to  the  remark  I  had 
made  about  him  as  a  boy,  to  the  effect  that  "he  ought  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world,  but  the  difficulty  was  that  he  had  a 
rich  father."  He  said  he  would  like  to  have  me  see  his  boy, 
Teddy,  who  was  then  about  the  same  age  as  he  himself  when 
he  was  coming  to  me.  "And  they  do  say,"  he  added,  "that  he 
is  very  much  like  his  father." 

Then  without  any  preliminary  adieux,  he  darted  forth  his 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  263 

hand,  and  with  a  "so  glad  to  have  seen  you,"  turned  like  a 
flash  to  his  interrupted  conferences  with  others. 

Some  years  after  I  did  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Teddy, 
Jr.,  for  a  moment,  and  remember  him  as  a  charmingly  polite 
boy.  He  and  his  fine  brothers  have  since  shown  themselves  to 
be  the  best  of  citizens  and  the  bravest  of  soldiers. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  assassination  of  President  McKin- 
ley.  As  I  was  driving  along  the  road  leading  to  the  Roosevelt 
home  in  Oyster  Bay,  I  saw  a  bareheaded  boy  busily  engaged 
in  poking  up  some  small  animals,  and  I  asked  him  whose  house 
it  was  that  I  saw — "It  is  Governor  Roosevelt's  house,"  he 
modestly  said.  "Oh,  no,"  I  replied,  "You  mean  President 
Roosevelt."  "Yes,"  he  answered,  "President  Roosevelt,"  as 
if  appreciating  for  the  first  time  the  new  honor  that  had  come 
to  his  father;  for  the  bareheaded  boy  was  Theodore  Roose- 
velt, Jr. 

My  perhaps  rather  intrusive  letters  to  Mr.  Roosevelt,  in- 
cluding those  written  when  he  was  made  assistant  secretary 
of  the  Navy,  governor,  and  vice-president  were  all  duly  ac- 
knowledged; but  when  he  became  president  it  was  Mr.  Cor- 
telyou  who  replied.  This  was  not  quite  what  I  wanted,  and  so 
shortly  before  the  close  of  the  presidential  term  I  wrote  that 
I  would  now  like  a  letter  from  the  President  himself,  adding 
that  I  thought  myself  entitled  to  this,  because  when  he  was  a 
boy,  I  had  told  his  father  that  the  three  things  the  son  needed 
were  change,  plenty  of  fresh  air,  and  exercise.  "You  had  the 
change  soon  after  in  going  abroad,"  I  wrote,  "and  according 
to  current  report  you  still  keep  up  the  exercise."  In  his  reply 
the  President  said  that  he  was  much  amused  at  my  memory 
of  the  advice  I  had  given  to  his  father. 

The  last  time  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Colonel 
Roosevelt  was  at  the  dedication  of  the  Orthopedic  Hospital  in 
East  Fifty-eighth  Street,  when  he  was  the  speaker.  His  father 
had  been  one  of  the  founders  and  benefactors  of  this  splendid 
charity,  and  as  I  well  remember,  was  deeply  interested  in  its 
success.  In  his  address  the  Colonel  alluded  to  his  father  as 
the  best  man  he  ever  knew!  In  greeting  Mr.  Roosevelt  after 
the  lecture,  I  told  him  that  I  could  say  that  his  father  was  at 
least  one  of  the  best  men  that  I  had  ever  known. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  was  a  great  and  a  good  man.     If  he 


264  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

had  had  no  faults  he  would  not  have  been  human,  and  it  is 
because  he  was  so  human  that  men  loved  him  so  much.  His 
supreme  service  to  his  country — in  the  estimation  of  many — 
was  in  being  instrumental  more  than  any  other  man  in  saving 
it  from  the  purchase  of  peace  at  the  cost  of  honor. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

WILLIAM     T.     SHERMAN COMMODORE      C.      VANDERBILT 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER JUDGE  WILLIAM  FULLERTON 

BENJAMIN   F.   TRACY 

GENERAL  SHERMAN  was  one  of  those  genial  souls 
who  never  seem  to  have  a  thought  of  their  own  mili- 
tary preeminence.  He  was  quite  unlike  General  How- 
ard, one  of  his  army  commanders  in  the  March  to  the  Sea,  a 
man  for  whom  Sherman  had  a  high  regard. 

Howard  was  a  very  religious  and  sincere  man,  but  in  his 
presence  and  in  his  conversation  I  could  not  divest  myself  of 
the  feeling  that  there  was  a  manifest  self-consciousness  and 
perhaps  vanity  in  too  large  a  degree  for  a  truly  great  man.  I 
will  not  say  that  he  paraded  his  religious  personality,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  and  I  think  to  others  that  he  emphasized  it  at 
inopportune  times.  I  recall  an  exceedingly  interesting  meeting 
of  the  Loyal  Legion  when  Sherman,  Howard,  Horace  Porter, 
and  other  eminent  Civil  War  veterans  were  present.  In  some 
way  or  other,  and  through  General  Howard's  initiative,  there 
occurred  a  certain  religious  trend  to  the  speeches.  Following 
Howard,  Porter  gave  one  of  his  witty  talks.  He  said  one  time 
he  was  on  his  way  with  dispatches  for  General  Grant  at  Chat- 
tanooga, when  he  heard  that  the  great  battles  were  in  prog- 
ress. The  train  seemed  to  creep,  so  anxious  was  he,  when 
suddenly  he  recollected  that  Howard  was  there,  and  he  knew 
Howard  would  take  Missionary  Ridge.  And  finally,  I  recall 
with  what  earnestness  Sherman  spoke,  as  he  said:  "Gentle- 
men, it  makes  no  difference  what  you  call  Him,  God,  Jehovah, 
or  the  First  Great  Cause,  the  only  thing  for  you  and  for  me 
is  to  be  good  men." 

General  Sherman  was  as  sincere  and  straightforward  as  a 
child,  and  with  a  character  that  could  not  be  crushed  into  any 
foreign  mold;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  without  affectation. 

Men  who  might  not  be  considered  affected  will  often  do 
things  for  effect,  but  I  cannot  imagine  General  Sherman,  any 
more  than  I  can  imagine  Mr.  Beecher,  posing  for  effect.     As 

265 


266  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

in  the  poetry  of  Burns,  there  were  "tears  and  consuming  fire," 
so  in  the  altogether  kind  and  genial  nature  of  Sherman  there 
lurked  the  lightning  that  needed  only  provocation  to  blast 
wherever  it  struck.  His  reply  to  the  Confederate  General 
Hood,  who  accused  him  of  unchivalrous  conduct  at  the  siege 
of  Atlanta,  instead  of  a  defence  was  a  withering  philippic. 

The  first  of  many  subsequent  meetings  with  General  Sher- 
man occurred  in  this  wise :  Late  one  evening,  I  boarded  an 
elevated  train  at  Forty-second  Street.  There  was  a  great 
crowd,  and  on  the  platform  I  found  myself  next  to  the  Gen- 
eral, who  was  returning  from  the  Union  League  Club.  Here 
was  my  opportunity,  and  I  said,  "How  do  you  do,  General 
Sherman." 

"Who  is  it — who  is  it?"  he  asked  in  a  quick,  nervous  way, 
using  the  expression  twice,  as  I  found  was  often  his  habit. 

"I  am  quite  unknown  to  you,  General.  My  only  claim  is 
that  of  an  old  soldier." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  to  greet  any  old  soldier." 

And  then  we  talked  about  Grant  and  Sheridan,  and  among 
other  things  about  the  prospective  growth  of  New  York.  My 
young  son  was  standing  beside  him,  and  in  concluding  some 
prophecy  in  regard  to  this  growth,  he  said  to  me,  putting  his 
arm  over  the  shoulder  of  the  lad  and  pressing  him  to  him, 
"You  and  I  may  never  see  it,  but  this  boy  will."  A  few  weeks 
after,  I  again  met  the  general  on  his  way  home  from  a  gather- 
ing of  the  Loyal  Legion,  and  he  was  alone.  I  greeted  him, 
and  as  before  he  said,  "Who  is  it — who  is  it?"  I  gave  him 
my  name,  and  he  pointed  to  my  black  dress-shirt  protector, 
worn  in  those  days,  saying:  "I  thought  you  were  a  preacher." 
He  chatted  in  a  very  interesting  manner  all  the  way  to  his 
station  at  Seventy-second  Street  and  was  especially  communi- 
cative in  answer  to  a  question  in  regard  to  the  preposterous 
rumor  that  had  spread  through  the  country  in  the  earlier  part 
of  the  war,  as  to  his  supposed  mental  deficiency.  With  an  un- 
erring prescience,  which  was  one  of  his  most  remarkable  gifts, 
as  related  at  least  to  his  conception  of  the  magnitude  and  char- 
acter of  the  war,  he  had  insisted  that  an  army  of  two  hundred 
thousand  men  were  needed  in  the  section  in  which  he  served, 
Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  For  this  he  was  charged  with  a  cer- 
tain unsoundness  of  mind  by  the  press  from  one  end  of  the 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  267 

country  to  the  other.  Indeed  it  came  very  nearly  ending  his 
military  career  and  the  loss  to  the  country  of  his  great  abilities. 
"This  accusation,"  he  said,  "was  one  of  the  most  trying  I  was 
ever  called  upon  to  face,"  and  the  tone  in  which  he  repeated, 
"and  they  called  me  crazy!"  indicated  that  time  had  not  alto- 
gether obliterated  the  sense  of  wrong. 

As  he  was  about  to  go,  I  remarked  that  it  had  almost  es- 
caped my  mind  to  give  him  a  message.  The  boy  whom  he 
met  some  weeks  before  charged  me  to  be  particular  to  give 
his  regards  to  his  friend,  General  Sherman.  "That's  right," 
said  the  General,  "tell  the  boy  to  come  in  some  morning  on 
his  way  to  school  and  see  me."  I  think  no  further  illustration 
is  necessary  to  show  the  truth  of  my  statement,  that  this  great 
and  sometimes  rough  warrior  was  as  simple  and  straightfor- 
ward as  a  child.  To  those  who  wish  an  acquaintance  with  his 
far-reaching  vision,  I  commend  the  letters  that  passed  between 
him  and  his  brother,  John  Sherman,  during  the  years  be- 
tween '61  and  '64,  during  the  war.  He  was  without  question 
the  most  picturesque,  at  least  on  the  Union  side,  of  the  great 
figures  of  our  Civil  War. 

Few  personalities  have  interested  me  more  than  that  of 
Commodore  Vanderbilt.  There  were  so  many  stories  current 
of  his  brusque  peculiarities,  that  when  the  late  Dr.  Linsly, 
his  family  physician,  called  and  said  he  would  like  to  have  me 
go  and  see  the  Commodore,  I  expressed  some  hesitancy.  "You 
need  fear  nothing,"  was  the  reply.  "He  will  treat  you  well, 
only  he  may  want  to  get  it  done  as  cheaply  as  possible." 
Armed  with  the  doctor's  card  of  introduction,  I  went  to  the 
Commodore's  house  in  Waverley  Place,  and  was  told  he  was 
in  his  office  on  Fourth  Street  in  the  rear.  Entering  the  build- 
ing, I  saw  him  talking  with  a  gentleman  in  an  adjoining  room. 
"Hello  there,  what  do  you  want?"  he  called  out.  I  said  noth- 
ing, but  handed  him  the  card  of  introduction.  "Oh,  you  are 
the  doctor,  are  you  ?  Well,  sit  down  out  there,  will  you,  until  I 
get  through?"  He  soon  called  me,  and  began  to  question  me, 
as  if  I  had  been  a  schoolboy,  instead  of  a  young  professional 
man  who  thought  he  was  achieving  some  sort  of  reputation 
and  held  the  dignity  of  his  position  in  high  regard.  I  mani- 
fested no  outward  objection,   for  was  it  not  the  great  and 


268  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

unique  Commodore,  known  throughout  the  land  as  its  richest 
man?  Finally  he  said,  "Well,  let's  go  into  the  house."  He 
stopped  at  his  stables  on  the  way,  patted  his  horses,  of  whom 
he  seemed  very  fond,  and  led  the  way  up  to  his  "den."  And 
it  was  truly  a  den — a  den  of  disorder,  plain  as  a  pipe-stem, 
with  its  contents  scattered  around  in  great  disorder.  It  was 
evident  that  the  Commodore,  like  many  another  man,  did  not 
care  much  for  meddlesome  interfering  in  the  way  of  tidying 
up.  "Do  you  think  you  can  help  me?"  he  asked.  "I  think  I 
can,"  was  my  reply.  "What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  told 
him  as  briefly  as  possible.  He  then  pulled  from  under  his 
desk  a  little  old-fashioned  rotary  electric  machine  and  wanted 
to  know  if  I  could  make  it  go.  I  made  it  "go."  "Is  it  any 
good  for  your  purpose?"  he  asked.  "It  is  utterly  worthless," 
I  replied.  "How  much  would  such  a  machine  as  you  want  to 
use  on  me  cost?"  I  mentioned  a  comparatively  small  amount. 
"That's  a  devilish  big  price,"  he  commented,  "for  such  a  thing 
as  that."  He  mused  a  while,  and  then  said  aloud,  as  if  to 
himself,  "I  wonder  what  I  had  better  do?"  "Mr.  Vanderbilt," 
I  said,  "would  you  like  to  have  me  tell  you  what  you  had  better 
do?"  "Yes."  "Well,  sir,  it  is  very  evident  that  the  subject 
is  entirely  out  of  your  province.  You  know  nothing  about  it, 
and  you  had  better  waste  no  more  time,  but  come  to  my  office 
and  let  me  treat  you  according  to  my  best  judgment."  This 
reply  evidently  did  not  in  the  least  displease  the  old  gentleman. 
He  smiled  good-naturedly  and  said,  "Where  is  your  office?" 
I  told  him.  "I  will  be  there  at  eleven  o'clock  sharp  to-mor- 
row morning."  Mr.  Vanderbilt  was  punctual  to  the  minute, 
and  thereafter,  as  long  as  he  came  to  me,  I  never  needed  the 
clock  to  tell  when  it  was  eleven  o'clock.  However  rough  and 
severe  he  might  sometimes  have  been  to  others,  to  me  he  was 
always  courteous  and  agreeable,  and  while  I  may  be  mistaken, 
I  hold  the  idea  that  my  rather  straightforward  and  independent 
attitude  toward  him  rather  helped  me  in  his  esteem  than  other- 
wise. He  was  very  fond  of  talking  and  did  most  of  it,  giving 
his  views  positively  and  without  reserve  on  a  great  variety  of 
subjects.  He  seemed  interested  in  my  army  experiences,  and 
was  full  of  patriotism,  and  to  my  word  of  praise  for  his  munifi- 
cent gift  to  the  government  of  a  million-dollar  steamship,  he 
answered  modestly  and  made  light  of  the  whole  matter.     His 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  269 

opinion  of  Mr.  Chase  was  that  he  was  a  good  man,  but  didn't 
know  much  about  money.  "No,"  I  remarked,  with  a  slight 
attempt  at  humor,  "he  has  not  succeeded  in  accumulating  a 
great  deal."  "I  don't  mean  that,"  he  answered.  "Chase  was 
honest,  but  in  the  management  of  the  finances  of  the  country 
he  did  things  the  wrong  way."  Of  lawyers  he  did  not  seem 
to  have  a  very  exalted  opinion.  To  one  of  this  honorable  pro- 
fession and  related  to  him,  he  is  said  to  have  remarked,  "You 
can  be  more  kinds  of  a  d — n  fool  than  any  man  I  know."  In 
regard  to  lawyers  generally,  he  said  sententiously,  with  a 
grammatical  lapse  not  unusual  with  him,  "Lawyers  don't 
know  nothing.  They  talk  too  much."  He  illustrated  this  in 
a  reference  to  his  difficulties  with  the  banking  firm  of  the 
Barings  in  England.  "I  went  over,"  he  said,  "and  took  two 
of  the  best  lawyers  in  New  York  with  me.  We  met  and  we 
met,  and  we  talked  and  we  talked,  and  that  was  all  the  good 
it  did.  So  I  called  my  two  lawyers  to  me  one  day  and  said 
to  them  that  we  would  have  one  more  meeting  and  one  only, 
and  you  may  talk  two  hours  apiece,  but  when  you  have  had 
your  say,  stop  talking  and  let  me  talk.  We  met  and  each  of 
them  talked  two  hours.  When  it  came  my  turn,"  said  Mr. 
Vanderbilt,  bringing  his  hand  down  rather  heavily  on  the 
table,  "I  said:   'I  don't  sign  it!'  and  that  ended  the  matter." 

The  prediction  that  Mr.  Vanderbilt  would  "want  to  get  it 
done  as  cheaply  as  possible"  was  not  fulfilled.  When  through, 
he  simply  said,  "How  much  do  I  owe  you,  sonny?"  and  paid 
his  bill.  Mr.  Vanderbilt  was  about  eighty-four  years  of  age 
and  a  more  venerable  and  imposing  personality  was  seldom 
seen.  He  was  tall  and  well-formed,  with  regular  features, 
and  wi:h  his  invariable  white  tie  a  stranger  might  readily  mis- 
take him  in  repose  for  a  distinguished  Presbyteran  clergyman. 

Various  members  of  the  Vanderbilt  family  came  to  me  sub- 
sequently for  professional  aid,  but  none  interested  me  as  did 
the  Commodore,  unless  I  except  the  Commodore's  brother, 
Captain  Jacob  Vanderbilt.  He,  too,  looked  like  a  parson, 
with  his  white  necktie.  When  his  bill  was  sent  he  seemed  in 
no  haste  to  settle  it.  When  we  met  he  complained  bitterly  of 
the  size  of  the  bill,  which  by  the  way,  was  our  usual  modest 
charge,  said  that  we  were  a  couple  of  "beats,"  referring  to  Dr. 
Beard  as  well,  and  closed  with  the  threat  that  he  would  never 


270  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

send  any  patients  to  us.  Dr.  Beard  was  good  enough  to  say- 
that  he  hoped  he  would  not  do  so  if  he,  Captain  Vanderbilt, 
was  a  sample.  This  was  not  very  polite,  but  not  quite  so  im- 
polite as  the  Captain's  epithet  of  "beats."  However,  our 
patient  was  all  right  at  heart.  He  was  perfectly  honest  in 
his  belief  that  he  was  being  overcharged,  for  having  placed 
us  on  the  plane  of  mere  mechanicians,  he  thought  the  fee  of  a 
mechanician  only  was  due  us. 

When  I  think  of  the  naturalness  of  General  Sherman,  I 
think  also  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  These  two  seem  to  be 
the  most  simply  natural  men  I  ever  met,  and  it  is  altogether 
probable  that  one  of  the  explanations  of  the  great  hold  Mr. 
Beecher  had  on  his  fellow  men  was  this  absolute  freedom 
from  personal  vanity.  I  was  present  on  that  day  of  his  trial 
when  Mr.  Fullerton,  of  the  opposing  counsel,  by  every  art 
familiar  to  this  great  cross-examiner  endeavored  to  entrap 
him.  Mr.  Beecher  never  seemed  to  me  greater  than  on  that 
occasion,  as  calmly  and  benignantly  he  grasped  the  arms  of  his 
chair  and  successfully  parried  every  fierce  thrust.  When  the 
court  adjourned,  my  companion  remarked  to  Mr.  Beecher 
that  "judging  from  the  experience  through  which  he  had  so 
successfully  passed,  the  terrors  of  cross-examination  should 
be  over  for  him."  He  replied  most  earnestly,  "I  cannot  say. 
I  hope  to  be  equal  to  the  occasion,  but  this  sort  of  thing  is  quite 
opposed  to  all  my  habits  and  methods  of  thought."  To  me, 
he  was  the  greatest  of  orators.  Others  do  not  rate  him  so 
highly.  It  is  a  matter  of  opinion,  but  if  we  accept  Emerson's 
definition  of  eloquence,  "him  we  call  an  artist,  who  shall  play 
on  an  assembly  of  men,  as  a  master  on  the  keys  of  a  piano, 
who  seeing  the  people  furious,  shall  soften  and  compose  them, 
shall  draw  them  when  he  will  to  laughter  and  to  tears,"  then 
Mr.  Beecher  must  bear  away  the  palm,  for  his  triumphs  in 
this  direction  have  been  equalled  by  no  man  of  his  time.  With 
sublime,  but  unconscious  egotism,  he  said  of  the  howling  Man- 
chester mob,  whom  he  finally  subdued  by  his  patience,  tact  and 
magnificent  oratory,  "I  knew  if  I  could  only  get  their  ear,  I 
should  be  the  master  of  every  man  of  them."  It  is  somewhat 
of  a  coincidence  that  after  the  Beecher  trial  I  should  have  in 
quick  succession  two  of  the  prominent  opposing  counsel   as 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  271 

patients — Mr.  Fullerton,  of  the  prosecution,  and  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin Tracy  of  the  defence,  afterwards  Secretary  of  the  Navy 
in  the  cabinet  of  Mr.  Harrison.  So  bitter  was  Mr.  Fullerton 
that,  during  the  trial,  he  refused  the  proffered  hand  of  Mr. 
Beecher,  and  I  was  therefore  not  very  much  surprised  at  his 
attitude  when  the  subject  was  broached.  I  told  him  that  I  was 
present  at  the  memorable  field  day  of  the  cross-examination. 
He  looked  surprised  but  said  only:  "He  is  a  slippery  eel,"  and 
seemed  disinclined  to  discuss  the  subject  further.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  he  and  all  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  includ- 
ing my  old  war-time  acquaintance,  Roger  A.  Pryor,  felt  more 
or  less  sore  over  the  whole  affair.  They  took  the  case  know- 
ing that  any  adequate  remuneration  was  more  or  less  doubt- 
ful, but  willing  to  run  that  risk  in  return  for  the  great  promi- 
nence it  would  give  them  throughout  the  country.  It  was 
thought  that  the  trial  would  last  not  more  than  two  weeks  or 
at  most  three.  On  the  contrary  it  drew  its  slow  length  along 
for  many  months,  ending  in  their  defeat.  Who  could  blame 
them  for  feeling  deep  chagrin?  Mr.  Tracy,  or  General  Tracy 
as  he  liked  to  be  called,  for  he  did  valiant  service  as  a  soldier, 
took  naturally  a  very  different  view.  His  regard  for  Mr. 
Beecher  was  earnest  and  sincere.  He  freely  talked  about 
what  he  knew  of  the  case  in  its  subtle  ramifications,  "wheels 
within  wheels,"  as  he  expressed  it,  representing  a  bitter  en- 
mity against  Mr.  Beecher  and  a  determination  to  ruin  him. 
An  army  of  damaging  testimony  was  brought  against  him, 
including  letters  of  his  which  might  be,  and  were,  doubly  in- 
terpreted according  to  individual  opinion.  One  critic,  not  too 
favorably  inclined,  admitted  that  if  anyone  could  write  a 
certain  letter  that  was  made  much  of  at  the  trial,  and  yet  be 
guiltless  of  the  interpretation  put  upon  it,  that  man  was  Mr. 
Beecher.  And  this  was  notably  true.  This  great  open-handed, 
open-hearted  lover  of  his  kind  wore  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve, 
and  as  he  thought  and  felt,  so  he  spoke  and  acted,  and  the 
world  believes  in  him  still. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

SENATOR   JAMES    W.    GRIMES THE    POTTERS MOSES   TAYLOR 

DAVID  HOADLEY W.  E.  DODGE PETER  STUYVESANT 

GENERAL  ARCHIBALD  C.  NIVEN 

SENATOR  JAMES  W.  GRIMES  of  Iowa  was  one  of  the 
seven  Republican  senators  who  voted  against  the  convic- 
tion of  Andrew  Johnson  in  the  impeachment  trial.  These 
seven  were  subjected  by  their  political  associates  to  a  moral 
pressure  without  precedent.  They  were  threatened  in  every  con- 
ceivable way,  but  all  stood  manfully  by  their  convictions,  and 
by  a  majority  of  but  one  the  country  was  saved  the  disgrace  of 
unjustly  deposing  its  president.  Whatever  his  faults,  and  they 
were  many,  Andrew  Johnson  was  a  sturdy  patriot,  and  as 
governor  of  Tennessee  had  rendered  inestimable  services  to 
the  government,  both  before  and  during  the  rebellion.  When 
Professor  Austin  Flint  wrote  me  that  he  had  given  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  Senator  Grimes,  I  was  interested  to  see  what 
manner  of  man  he  was.  In  manner,  appearance  and  dress, 
one  might  at  first  glance  have  taken  him  for  a  respectable 
western  farmer,  but  a  few  moments  conversation  revealed  the 
fact  that  one  was  conversing  with  a  man  of  more  than  the 
usual  mentality  and  one  worthy  to  represent  the  people  in  the 
Senate.  I  did  not  appreciate  this  at  once,  for  in  his  note  to 
me  Dr.  Flint  referred  to  the  mental  depression  of  his  patient, 
so  profound  that  moral  considerations  alone  prevented  him 
from  committing  suicide.  Like  Mr.  Chase  he  soon  be- 
gan to  brighten,  and  as  I  had  met  President  Johnson,  and 
knew  so  well  the  chief  justice,  who  presided  at  the  trial, 
he  evinced  no  hesitation  in  speaking  with  some  freedom.  He 
was  no  great  admirer  of  Mr.  Johnson,  but  his  sturdy  sense  of 
justice  impelled  him  to  go  counter  to  every  consideration  of 
the  lower  political  prudence.  By  voting  with  his  party  he  had 
in  one  sense  everything  to  gain,  and  nothing  to  lose,  but  from 
the  righteous  standpoint,  the  reverse.  He  did  indeed  lose  his 
life,  for  there  can  be  no  question  but  that  the  stress  and  strain 
of  that  exciting  time  undermined  his  physical  forces  and  short- 

272 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  273 

ened  his  days.  Senator  Ross,  of  Kansas,  suffered  more  than 
any  of  the  seven.  His  state,  to  its  shame,  practically  ostracized 
him,  and  he  died  prematurely  in  Texas,  poor  and  alone. 

It  was  a  good  day's  work  that  these  men  did,  but  they  re- 
ceived no  fair  day's  wages  for  it.  Their  rewards  recall  those 
of  Milton  for  writing  "Paradise  Lost,"  "ten  pounds  paid  by 
installments,  and  a  rather  close  escape  from  death  on  the 
gallows,"  and  Cromwell's  "burial  under  the  gallows  tree  near 
Tyburn  Turnpike,  with  his  head  on  the  gable  of  Westminster 
Hall." 

The  Potters  unquestionably  make  up  one  of  the  notable 
families  of  America,  so  much  so  that  on  one  occasion  William 
M.  Evarts,  with  his  inimitable  wit,  took  occasion  to  play  upon 
the  name.  An  English  Potter,  member  of  Parliament  and  a 
distant  connection  of  the  American  Potters,  was  given  a  din- 
ner by  the  latter.  Mr.  Evarts  in  his  speech  said  that,  as  he 
surveyed  the  various  members  of  the  Potter  family,  the  guest 
of  the  evening,  the  Hon.  Mr.  Potter,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Henry 
Potter,  President  Eliphalet  Potter,  General  Potter,  Clarkson 
Potter,  Howard  Potter,  and  others,  he  felt  very  much  as  did 
the  young  minister  about  to  preach  his  trial  sermon.  In  his 
trepidation  and  in  trembling  voice  he  began  the  opening  prayer 
by  saying,  "O  Lord,  thou  art  the  clay  and  we  are  the  Potters." 
Alonzo  Potter,  as  bishop  of  Pennsylvania,  his  brother,  Hora- 
tio Potter,  bishop  of  New  York,  to  be  followed  by  Henry 
Codman  Potter,  son  of  the  former,  make  up  a  notable  ecclesi- 
astical succession  of  Princes  of  the  Church  in  a  democracy.  All 
three  were  men  of  the  very  first  rank. 

While  I  had  but  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Bishop  Henry 
Potter,  I  have  had  pleasant  professional  relations  with  va- 
rious members  of  the  family,  especially  with  Howard  Potter, 
the  banker,  and  with  Mrs.  Clarkson  Potter,  wife  of  the  dis- 
tinguished lawyer  and  congressman.  Howard  Potter  pos- 
sessed in  marked  degree  the  tact  and  high-bred  courtesy  that 
distinguished  his  brothers,  the  bishop  and  the  congressman. 
The  latter  served  his  country  many  years  in  that  body  which 
was  saved  then,  as  it  is  now  only  partially  saved,  from  dis- 
graceful failure  by  the  leaven  of  such  able,  honest,  patriotic 
men  as  he.    Mr.  Howard  Potter  had  a  unique  fancy  for  mural 


274  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

inscriptions,  and  I  remember,  while  waiting  in  his  drawing 
room,  trying  to  bring  back  my  lost  classic  lore  by  translating 
the  numerous  Greek  and  Latin  quotations  above  and  around 
me.  I  think  I  may  have  slightly  offended  him  on  one  occa- 
sion. Passing  his  house  on  Park  Avenue,  one  morning  on  my 
way  to  my  office,  I  saw  the  strange  sight  of  the  faultlessly 
dressed  and  dignified  Mr.  Potter  perched  high  up  on  a  ladder 
resting  against  his  house.  He  was  inspecting  some  repairs. 
Seeing  me  he  hastened  down  and  after  the  first  greeting,  said 
he  felt  some  slight  symptoms  of  the  old  difficulty,  and  wanted 
to  know  if  a  little  more  of  my  treatment  might  not  prove  a 
prophylactic.  The  term,  as  coming  from  a  layman  (although 
why  should  it),  excited  a  humorous  vein  and  I  laid  special  em- 
phasis on  the  word  prophylactic.  He  looked  at  me  sharply, 
as  if  a  little  surprised,  but  made  no  other  sign.  That  he  held 
no  grudge  was  evidenced  by  his  very  pleasant  greeting  when 
I  met  him  in  London  a  few  years  after. 

Among  the  great  fortunes  of  thirty  or  forty  years  ago  was 
that  of  Moses  Taylor.  When  I  saw  him  professionally  he 
was  living  on  Fifth  Avenue,  below  Twenty-third  Street,  and 
had  then  long  passed  the  meridian  of  life.  Like  the  Com- 
modore he  was  a  notable-looking  old  man — large,  dignified 
and  imposing,  with  fine,  clear-cut  features,  and  like  the  Com- 
modore, one  at  whom  you  would  turn  and  look  a  second  time 
when  passing  him  on  the  street.  I  saw  him  at  his  house  many 
times,  and  he  was  quite  as  free  and  genial  in  his  conversation 
as  Commodore  Vanderbilt  had  been.  He  was  distinctly 
chatty,  and  I  suppose  my  coming  and  going  rather  interested 
him  and  helped  to  pass  the  time;  for  many  of  these  men  of 
note  in  finance  and  commerce  are  woefully  helpless  and  to  be 
pitied  when,  through  age  or  illness,  they  are  laid  upon  the 
shelf.  They  have  no  avocation.  They  have  formed  no  friend- 
ship with  books,  and  are  devoid  of  internal  resources.  The 
past  is  theirs,  but  it  is  too  often  the  past  of  bitter  struggles 
and  hard  methods.  In  speaking  of  Vanderbilt  he  said,  "I  was 
always  afraid  of  the  Commodore."  He  then  alluded  to  some 
schemes  which  the  latter  wanted  to  talk  over  with  him  once, 
and  how  he  eluded  him.  I  remember  well  one  expression  he 
used  in  relation  to  a  certain  possible  contingency.  "I  would 
have  jumped  down  his  throat,"  meaning,  I  take  it,  that  he 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  275 

would  have  stopped  further  discussion  and  balked  the  other's 
intention.  As  the  Commodore  left  $100,000,000,  and  Moses 
only  $40,000,000,  the  former  had  him  at  a  disadvantage  so 
far  as  financial  strength  was  concerned. 

An  acquaintance  of  mine  in  the  old  days  of  Harlem,  by 
name  Roswell  G.  Rolston,  had  become  the  president  of  the 
Farmers'  Loan  and  Trust  Company.  When  I  first  knew  him 
he  was  a  bank  teller,  where  he  came  to  know  Moses  Taylor. 
The  latter  became  interested  in  him  and,  through  Taylor's  in- 
fluence combined  with  his  own  abilities,  Rolston  attained  this 
highly  responsible  position.  When  Mr.  Taylor  learned  of 
my  acquaintance  with  Rolston,  he  commissioned  me  to  tell 
him  to  come  in  and  see  him.  "I  told  Rolston,"  said  he, 
"after  one  of  his  promotions,  'Young  man,  we  are  pushing 
you  ahead  rather  too  fast,  I  am  afraid.'  " 

When  I  sent  him  my  account,  instead  of  returning  a  check 
he  wrote  asking  for  a  bill  of  items.  It  rather  disturbed  me, 
as  it  seemed  to  indicate  an  idea  that  I  had  overcharged  him. 
So  the  items  were  sent,  and  a  check  for  the  amount  promptly 
returned.  It  was  simply  his  life-long  habit  of  intimate  touch 
with  every  detail  of  business,  which  was  the  foundation  of  his 
phenomenal  success. 

Among  the  patients  of  those  earlier  days,  I  recall  Mr. 
David  Hoadley,  who  was  or  who  had  been  the  president  of 
the  Panama  Railroad.  I  remember  him  as  a  quiet,  genial 
gentleman,  who  talked  very  interestingly  about  that  narrow 
connecting  strip  of  land  and  about  the  probabilities  of  a  fu- 
ture canal,  in  which,  like  a  far-seeing  man,  he  confidently 
believed. 

Mrs.  William  E.  Dodge  came  to  my  office  professionally  for 
a  time,  and  Mr.  Dodge  accompanied  her.  He  was  very  chatty 
and  agreeable,  and,  like  both  Commodore  Vanderbilt  and 
Moses  Taylor,  having  passed  over  the  border  where  reminis- 
cence takes  the  place  of  anticipation  and  active  endeavor,  he 
was  fond  of  talking  of  past  events.  Mr.  Dodge  was  a  phil- 
anthropist and  a  good  man,  and  of  such  men  a  nation  cannot 
have  too  many.  Among  so  many  virtues,  one  of  his  pardon- 
able weaknesses  was  some  little  vanity  when  enumerating  his 
various  benefactions.     Hanging  on  the  wall  of  our  office  was 


276  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

an  engraving  of  Andover  Academy.  It  caught  his  eye,  and 
he  became  immediately  interested.  "Yes,"  he  said,  with  non- 
chalance, "the  institution  was  in  need  and  I  helped  it  out," 
mentioning  quite  a  generous  sum. 

All  New  Yorkers  know  the  old  Dodge  mansion  on  Madison 
Avenue  near  Thirty-sixth  Street,  next  to  the  one  occupied  by 
the  late  J.  P.  Morgan.  It  is  one  of  three  covering  the  block. 
Long  subsequently  another  patient,  a  Mrs.  Colby,  nee  Col- 
gate, whose  house  was  on  Twenty-third  Street  facing  Madison 
Avenue,  told  of  the  astonishment  of  the  neighbors  that  Mr. 
Dodge  should  build  "so  far  up  town,"  and  yet  it  was  only 
thirteen  blocks  away.  The  Avenue  was  not  yet  paved,  and  in 
wet  weather  was  very  muddy;  and  Thirty-sixth  Street  as  a 
place  of  residence  seemed  rather  out  of  the  way.  I  shall 
always  remember  with  pleasure  the  colored  butler  of  Mr. 
Dodge,  whose  name  was  Carr.  He  interested  me  for  various 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  been  for  many  years  and 
during  the  Civil  War  in  the  employ  of  Stanton,  the  war 
secretary,  whose  son  was  my  classmate.  Secondly,  his  daugh- 
ter Louise  was  nursemaid  to  my  own  children  through  a  series 
of  years,  and  few  could  have  been  more  faithful  or  depend- 
able. Thirdly,  he  was  as  perfect  an  example  of  a  gentleman 
in  character  and  manner  as  could  be  found  in  any  society. 
When  on  occasions  he  came  to  visit  his  daughter,  I  always 
experienced  a  certain  uncomfortable  feeling  in  the  presence  of 
his  courteous  yet  deferential  attitude,  his  courtesy  being  so 
far  superior  to  that  of  many  of  the  best  of  my  so-called  social 
equals.  I  was  glad  to  learn  that  Mr.  Dodge  at  his  death  left 
this  faithful  servitor  well  provided  for. 

The  last  time  I  ever  met  Mr.  Dodge  was  on  the  train,  as 
we  were  approaching  Tarrytown,  his  summer  home.  I  have 
alluded  to  my  meeting  with  ex-President  Hayes  on  that  occa- 
sion. Mr.  Dodge,  whose  guest  Mr.  Hayes  then  was,  came 
forward  to  point  out  Sunnyside  to  him,  the  former  home  of 
Washington  Irving,  and  I  recall  with  what  interest  both  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hayes  looked  for  the  first  time  on  the  home  of  this 
popular  writer. 

About  this  time  I  was  reminded  of  sturdy  Peter  Stuyvesant 
of  early  colonial  times,  whose  portrait,  together  with  the  por- 
traits of  four  of  his  lineal  decendants,  now  adorns  the  walls 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  277 

of  the  New  York  Historical  Society.  My  patient  was  called 
Peter  after  his  famous  ancestor.  The  old  Peter,  as  history 
relates,  planted  a  great  row  of  trees,  pear  trees,  I  think,  part 
way  across  the  island  and  along  what  is  now  the  course  of 
Thirteenth  Street.  Tradition  has  it  that  when  the  English 
took  possession,  he  returned  to  his  estate  and  set  out  these 
trees  to  shut  out  the  lower  town  from  view.  However  this 
may  be,  I  remember  some  forty  or  more  years  ago,  gazing  on 
a  sickly  decaying  tree,  corner  of  Third  Avenue  and  Thirteenth 
Street,  carefully  protected  by  stout  iron  railings  and  said  to  be 
the  last  of  the  Stuyvesant  trees.  It  has  long  since  vanished, 
but  it  is  something  to  have  seen  this  relic  of  a  former  time, 
and  to  have  known  the  descendant  and  namesake  of  him  who 
had  it  set  out,  or  who  possibly  did  the  work  with  his  own 
hands.  The  main  thing  that  I  can  recall  about  the  modern 
Peter  Stuyvesant  was  that  he  bewailed  his  name.  He  said  he 
was  comparatively  poor,  and  yet  because  of  his  name,  he  was 
thought  to  be  rich  and  was  compelled  on  all  sides  to  dodge 
excessive  charges  and  persistent  importuning  for  donations 
of  all  kinds,  both  for  public  and  private  charities. 

My  acquaintance  with  General  Niven,  of  Monticello, 
N.  Y.,  adjutant  general  of  the  state,  who  often  came  to  my 
office  with  his  daughter,  is  worth  noting  because  of  a  story  he 
told  me.  This  story  relates  to  General  Grant  at  the  time, 
before  the  war,  when  he  was  making  a  precarious  livelihood 
as  a  real  estate  agent  in  St.  Louis,  under  the  firm  name,  if 
I  remember  rightly,  of  Boggs  and  Grant. 

An  intimate  friend  of  General  Niven  had  his  law  offices  in 
the  same  building.  This  man  was  a  judge,  distinguished  in 
his  profession,  and  of  high  social  connections.  As  he  passed 
to  and  from  his  office  he  would  often  meet  Grant  or  see  him 
sitting  idly  around.  He  formed  but  a  moderate  opinion  of 
his  ability  or  character.  He  always  nodded  politely  to  him, 
but  would  not  have  thought  it  according  to  the  fitness  of  things 
to  assume  social  relations  on  exactly  equal  terms.  To  him 
Grant  was  a  harmless,  rather  shiftless  man,  who  had  failed 
to  make  good  in  his  profession,  and  whose  present  outlook 
was  not  encouraging.  He  little  knew  the  pent-up  possibilities 
in  that  sphinx-like,  modest  soul,  patiently  waiting  for  some 
liberating  touch. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

GEORGE  FRANCIS  TRAIN BURROUGHS  LEWIS SIMON  STERNE 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER E.   DELAFIELD  SMITH 

ALBERT  BIERSTADT 

MY  first  impression  of  George  Francis  Train,  that  notable 
example  of  exaggerated  egotism  and  unbalanced  and 
ill-directed  philanthropic  enthusiasm,  was  gained  at  a 
lecture  of  his  at  Detroit  in  the  early  years  of  the  Civil  War. 
His  dress  proclaimed  his  oddity.  It  was  of  blue,  with  glitter- 
ing brass  buttons,  and  during  the  address  he  held  a  crushable 
operatic  hat  in  his  hand.  His  subject  was  the  war  then  on, 
and  how  to  end  it.  It  was  his  crazy  idea  that  he  should  be 
designated  by  the  President  as  a  committee  of  one  to  interview 
Jefferson  Davis.  It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  there  was 
some  precedent  for  Mr.  Henry  Ford's  quixotic  idea  of  his 
"Peace  Ship"  journey.  Just  what  Train's  scheme  was  I  do 
not  now  recall,  but  he  was  wonderfully  fluent  and  had  con- 
siderable oratorical  skill.  It  was  many  years  after  when  I  next 
saw  him  in  New  York  at  a  Turkish  bath  establishment.  A 
number  of  us  were  seated  in  the  hot  room  "in  puris  naturali- 
bus"  listening  to  a  dogmatic  lecture  from  another  on  the  prin- 
ciples of  health,  especially  as  related  to  the  hot  air  bath.  The 
speaker  was  intensely  amusing  and  everyone  enjoyed  it.  He 
spoke  as  if  with  authority  and  imperiously  waved  aside  every 
objection.  So  absurd  were  some  of  his  hygienic  propositions 
that  I  finally  joined  the  discussion  and  pointed  out  some  of 
his  inconsistencies,  whereupon  he  inquired  if  I  were  not  a  physi- 
cian. When  I  answered  affirmatively,  he  said  no  more,  but 
quietly  withdrew.  I  was  then  told  by  one  of  the  men  that  our 
friend  was  George  Francis  Train,  and  that  his  fad  at  that 
time  was  to  take  six  Turkish  baths  a  day. 

Train  lived  at  the  Ashland  House  for  many  years,  and  he 
could  be  seen  almost  any  fine  day  seated  on  a  bench  in  Madi- 
son Square  Park  surrounded  by  children,  with  whom  he  liked 
to  talk.  He  would  shake  hands  with  them,  but  with  no  one 
over  twelve  years  old,  since  from  children  he  received  a  cer- 

278 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  279 

tain  beneficial  magnetic  influence  which  would  be  extracted 
from  him  by  contact  with  older  persons.  I  never  knew  how 
he  reconciled  this  theory  with  the  logical  conclusion  that  the 
children  might  suffer  a  magnetic  loss  in  shaking  hands  with 
him.  I  sometimes  stopped  and  had  a  word  with  him,  and  on 
one  occasion  when,  surrounded  by  his  youthful  comrades,  I 
placed  my  hand  on  the  back  of  the  bench  on  which  he  was 
sitting,  he  earnestly  requested  me  to  remove  it. 

If  any  man  was  ever  the  victim  of  profound  mental  aliena- 
tion, Train  was,  and  yet  for  many  years  in  earlier  days  he  was 
the  head  and  front  of  great  street  railroad  enterprises  both 
here  and  in  England.  He  was  a  harmless  vagary — with  great 
natural  gifts,  and  it  was  never  thought  necessary  to  con- 
fine him. 

I  am  greatly  indebted  to  a  patient,  Mr.  Burroughs  Lewis,  an 
English  gentleman  who  first  introduced  me  to  the  delights  of 
Anthony  Trollope.  We  were  talking  about  literary  matters 
in  general,  when  in  reply  to  a  remark  of  mine  that  I  knew 
very  little  about  the  social  life  of  the  English  people,  he  asked 
me  if  I  had  ever  read  Anthony  Trollope.  I  answered  in  the 
negative,  and  he  advised  me  to  take  him  up,  since  I  would 
find  in  his  works  unsurpassed  portraitures  of  English  life  and 
manners.  This  was  forty-five  years  ago,  and  I  have  been 
reading  Trollope  ever  since.  In  the  midst  of  so  much  modern 
fictional  trash,  I  commend  him  to  the  American  reader.  He 
is  not  very  deep  or  profound,  and,  in  comparison  with  some 
others,  perhaps  skims  only  the  surface  of  human  hopes  and 
fears,  yet  he  knew  the  people  and  the  times  in  which  he  lived, 
and  has  depicted  their  salient  points  so  correctly,  so  vigorously, 
so  charmingly,  that  one  seldom  tires  even  under  the  prolixity 
of  some  of  his  analytical  characterizations.  I  suppose  it 
would  be  heresy  to  rank  him  with  Thackeray,  yet  far  more 
than  Thackeray  has  he  dealt  with  all  English  types,  urban, 
suburban,  and  pure  country,  and  with  a  Trollope  story  in  one's 
hand  one  can  get  absorbed  without  excitement,  and  forget 
care  more  easily  than  with  any  other  author.  It  will  pay  to 
read  his  autobiography,  for  a  more  interesting,  frankly  ego- 
tistical one  has  seldom  been  written.  "Have  you  ever  read 
the    novels    of   Anthony   Trollope?"    once    wrote    Nathaniel 


28o  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

Hawthorne.  "It  is  odd  enough,"  he  says,  "that  my  own  in- 
dividual taste  is  for  quite  another  class  of  works  than  those 
which  I  myself  am  able  to  write.  His  precisely  suit  my  taste, 
solid  and  substantial,  written  on  the  strength  of  beef  and 
through  the  inspiration  of  ale,  and  just  as  real  as  if  some 
giant  had  hewn  a  great  lump  out  of  the  earth  and  put  it  under 
a  glass  case,  with  all  its  inhabitants  going  about  their  daily 
business,  and  not  suspecting  that  they  were  being  made  a 
show  of." 

Simon  Sterne,  whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  profes- 
sionally, was  a  man  of  fine  character  and  sterling  worth.  I 
was  especially  impressed  with  his  hatred  of  shams,  combined 
with  a  touch  of  cynical  humor.  In  his  day  he  took  an  active 
part  in  the  purification  of  municipal  politics,  and  was  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  American  Free  Trade  League,  writing 
much  on  economical  subjects. 

Charles  Scribner,  the  publisher,  I  also  remember  with  much 
pleasure  as  an  exceedingly  kindly,  genial  man.  We  agreed 
that  the  year  1840  held  for  us  a  common  interest,  as  in  that 
year  he  was  graduated  at  Princeton,  and  I  was  born.  He  was 
the  founder  of  the  house  of  Scribner  &  Co.,  and  of  the  "Scrib- 
ner's  Magazine"  which  followed  the  "Hours  at  Home,"  so 
popular  in  its  time.  In  1881  he  sold  the  magazine  but  not  the 
name,  which  was  changed  to  "The  Century,"  with  the  proviso 
that  for  five  years  the  firm  of  Scribner  and  Company  could 
not  use  its  name  for  any  serial  publication. 

E.  Delafield  Smith  was  another  patient,  much  in  the  public 
eye  a  generation  ago,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  know  him  and 
to  talk  with  him.  At  that  time  he  was  corporation  counsel 
for  the  city  of  New  York,  and  formerly  had  been  United 
States  district  attorney  for  the  Southern  District  of  New 
York.  He  was  very  successful  as  a  lawyer  and  had  large  legal 
ability.  He  loved  literature,  too,  and  was  the  author  of  sev- 
eral poems.  In  1862  Nathaniel  Gordon,  master  of  the  slave 
ship  Eric,  was  convicted  through  the  efforts  of  Smith  and  was 
hung,  and  one  John  Andrews,  a  leader  of  the  draft  riots,  was 
also  convicted  following  his  vigorous  prosecution. 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  281 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  name  of  Albert  Bierstadt, 
the  artist,  who  in  his  day  had  a  fame  all  his  own.  His  sister 
was  the  patient,  but  I  saw  Mr.  Bierstadt  often,  both  in  his 
studio  and  elsewhere.  I  found  him  rather  reserved  and  seem- 
ingly a  somewhat  disappointed  man.  Formerly  his  pictures 
had  been  in  great  demand  and  he  had  received  high  prices. 
He  had  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  Far  West,  and  his 
canvasses  represented  much  of  the  wild  scenery  there.  In  the 
Capitol  at  Washington  hang  several  of  his  great  paintings, 
one  of  which  I  remember  as  being  the  "Discovery  of  the  Hud- 
son River."  Another,  "Lander's  Peak  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains," was  sold  for  $25,000  which  in  those  early  days  was 
a  great  price.  Bierstadt  was  a  friend  of  President  Arthur, 
and  I  am  under  the  impression  that  one  of  his  large  paintings 
hangs  or  did  hang  in  the  White  House  through  the  interest 
and  favor  of  his  friend,  the  President.  His  disappointment 
to  which  I  have  alluded  was  due,  I  imagine,  to  the  fact  that  his 
work  was  no  longer  much  in  favor,  and  his  pictures  did  not 
sell  well.  After  my  services  to  his  sister  had  been  rendered, 
and  my  bill  also  rendered,  she  wrote  me  a  note  asking  me  to 
take  a  small  picture  in  payment,  on  the  ground  that  it  would 
be  for  me  "a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  forever."  Subse- 
quently Mr.  Bierstadt  married  in  his  waning  days,  and  there- 
after I  occasionally  saw  him  beside  his  wife,  rolling  through 
the  park  in  a  fine  equipage,  which  seemed  to  indicate  that 
financial  troubles  were  a  thing  of  the  past. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

S.    W.    CRAWFORD MARK    TWAIN WILLIAM    M.    TWEED 

STEPHEN   H.   TYNG,   JR. JUDGE    H.    E.   DAVIES 

WILLIAM  S.  MAYO 

AT  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War,  S.  W.  Crawford  was 
a  surgeon  stationed  at  Fort  Sumter.  He  was  more 
military  than  medical  in  his  tastes,  however,  and  when 
Sumter  was  bombarded  he  took  to  the  guns  and  commanded 
a  battery.  Resigning  his  commission,  he  entered  the  line,  serv- 
ing throughout  the  war  and  through  successive  ranks,  finally 
becoming  a  major  general.  At  Antietam  he  succeeded  Gen- 
eral Mansfield,  who  was  killed,  as  division  commander.  He 
afterwards  commanded  the  Pennsylvania  Reserves,  making 
up  the  Third  Division  of  the  Fifth  Army  Corps,  and  I  remem- 
ber him  as  commanding  that  division  during  my  service  with 
the  Potomac  army.  Crawford  was  a  faithful  if  not  a  brilliant 
soldier,  and  the  paralysis  which  ended  his  life  in  1892  may 
have  been  partly  due  to  the  strain  and  hardships  of  his  four 
years  campaigning.  He  was  under  my  professional  care  in  the 
eighties,  and  we  enjoyed  each  other's  reminiscences  of  the  war, 
and  especially  the  last  campaign  ending  at  Appomattox.  His 
division  was  in  the  Fifth  Corps,  commanded  by  the  unfor- 
tunate Warren,  and  while  Crawford  did  not  say  very  much 
about  it,  his  sympathies  were  undoubtedly  with  General  War- 
ren rather  than  with  Sheridan.  Warren  was  a  highly  trained 
and  capable  corps  commander,  and  when  Sheridan  exercised 
his  prerogative  and  relieved  him  of  his  command,  in  these  clos- 
ing days  of  the  war,  he  struck  him  a  deadly  blow.  It  ruined 
Warren's  hopes  for  the  future,  for,  although  a  major  general 
of  volunteers  and  one  of  the  best  corps  commanders,  he 
received  no  rank  in  the  regulars  above  that  of  lieutenant 
colonel.  To  what  extent  Sheridan  was  justified  in  removing 
him  and  replacing  him  with  Griffin,  one  of  Crawford's  fellow 
division  commanders,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say.  Sheridan  as- 
serted that  Warren  was  too  slow.  This  much  is  sure — they 
never  liked  each  other.     They  were  different  types  of  men, 

282 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  283 

and  belonged  to  different  social  grades,  and  could  not  assimi- 
late. The  court-martial,  which  Warren  subsequently  de- 
manded, made  up  of  experienced  officers  of  high  repute,  was 
favorable  to  him  rather  than  otherwise.  Sheridan  had  said 
that  Warren's  manner  had  not  pleased  him,  showing  evidences 
of  indifference.  In  regard  to  this,  General  Chamberlain,  who 
served  with  the  Fifth  Corps,  and  afterwards  as  governor  of 
Maine,  gave  evidence  before  the  court  that,  on  the  occasion 
mentioned,  General  Warren  had  not  been  apathetic,  but  ener- 
getic. According  to  this  officer,  those  who  did  not  know  Gen- 
eral Warren's  temperament  might  think  him  to  be  negative 
when  he  was  deeply  intent.  Instead  of  showing  excitement, 
he  generally  showed  an  intense  concentration,  and  those  who 
did  not  know  him  might  misjudge  this  deep  concentrated 
thought  and  purpose  for  apathy.  It  is  quite  likely,  therefore, 
that  this  gallant  and  meritorious  officer  suffered  a  great  wrong. 
On  Little  Round  Top,  on  the  battlefield  of  Gettysburg,  stands 
a  statue  of  Warren.  Here  at  least  his  fame  is  secure.  It  was 
Warren  who  saved  Little  Round  Top,  which  did  as  much  as 
any  one  thing  to  give  the  North  the  victory  on  this  decisive 
battlefield  of  the  war. 

With  Mark  Twain  I  had  only  a  buttonhole  acquaintance- 
ship, as  is  sometimes  said  of  relationships.  To  my  regret  I 
never  met  him,  but  on  one  occasion  a  sister-in-law,  a  Mrs. 
Langdon,  of  Elmira,  was  coming  to  me.  Mr.  Clemens  was 
in  town  to  deliver  a  lecture,  and  my  patient  said  that  he  was 
coming  to  see  me  the  following  morning.  Everything  new 
excited  his  curiosity,  as  I  was  told,  and  he  wanted  to  see  what 
my  particular  method  was.  When  the  patient  came,  however, 
she  was  not  accompanied  by  Mark  Twain.  She  explained  that 
the  lecture  of  the  preceding  evening  was  a  part  of  a  sympo- 
sium. The  lecturer  was  full  of  his  usual  humor,  spoke  well, 
and  was  abundantly  applauded.  On  his  way  home,  however, 
he  was  taciturn  and  moody,  declared  he  had  made  a  fool  of 
himself,  and  said  that  the  best  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to 
take  the  first  morning  train  for  Hartford.  This  state  of  mind, 
this  revulsion  of  feeling,  she  added,  was  with  him  not  unusual. 

A  son  of  William  M.  Tweed  was  a  pupil  of  my  father,  and 


284  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

so  a  schoolmate  and  playfellow  of  mine.  Tweed,  Senior,  was 
at  that  time,  prior  to  the  Civil  War,  on  the  bottom  rung  of 
the  political  ladder.  He  was  a  chair-maker,  and  it  is  my 
memory  that  he  had  some  sort  of  a  dingy  office  on  or  near 
lower  Broadway,  which  he  used  for  political  purposes.  I  well 
remember  him  in  those  early  days  of  the  fifties,  when  he  came 
to  the  school  to  see  his  son.  He  was  at  that  time  a  young 
man,  but  he  seemed  old  to  me,  and  with  his  great,  curved  nose 
and  his  burly  frame,  afterwards  so  familiar  to  the  public,  he 
made  a  lasting  impression.  Complaint  by  his  son  had  been 
made  of  poor  and  insufficient  food  and  hard  beds.  All  un- 
heralded, Mr.  Tweed  appeared  upon  the  scene  for  investiga- 
tion. He  ate  at  the  table,  and  punched  the  beds,  pronouncing 
the  food  good  and  abundant,  and  the  beds  fit  for  anybody. 
What  words  of  warning  and  displeasure  were  reserved  for  his 
son,  Richard,  whose  letter  had  brought  his  father  forty  miles 
on  a  needless  errand,  I  do  not  recall.  I  do,  however,  remem- 
ber my  father  saying  at  that  time  that  Mr.  Tweed  was  very 
slow  pay,  and  that  he  made  frequent  visits  to  his  dingy  office 
on  Broadway  to  collect  the  monies  due  for  his  boy's  tuition. 
The  golden  flow  of  ill-gotten  gains  had  not  yet  begun  to  stream 
in.  In  the  early  seventies,  while  in  the  full  tide  of  his  political 
power,  I  again  saw  him  as  he  boarded  the  train  at  Greenwich, 
his  summer  home,  and  instantly  recognized  him  by  the  great 
nose  and  face  made  historic  by  Thomas  Nast.  The  overthrow 
of  Tweed,  his  arrest,  imprisonment,  flight,  capture,  and  death, 
are  now  matters  of  history.  A  great  and  good  work  was  ac- 
complished by  Tilden,  the  New  York  Times,  and  other  agen- 
cies; but  alas!  in  other  forms  and  under  cover  does  not  the 
same  old  graft  hold  sway? 

Mrs.  Tyng  was  a  patient  of  mine  at  one  time,  but  my  ac- 
quaintance with  Dr.  Stephen  Tyng,  Jr.,  was  through  my  con- 
nection with  the  free  dispensary  supported  by  his  church.  Here 
I  did  charity  work  for  several  years,  until  my  appointment  to 
the  Woman's  Hospital.  The  Tyngs  were  a  family  of  clergy- 
men, his  father  being  the  widely  known  rector  of  famous  St. 
George's  at  Stuyvesant  Park,  and  an  aggressive  and  more  or 
less  intolerant  churchman.  Young  Tyng,  too,  was  a  "Low 
Churchman,"  a  term  little  used  now,  since  the  better  appella- 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  285 

tion  of  "broad"  prevails.  As  the  jingle  went  at  that  time,  it 
was,  "low  and  lazy,  broad  and  hazy,  high  and  crazy,"  but  the 
Tyngs  were  far  from  lazy,  and  Tyng,  Jr.,  was  a  perfect  dy- 
namo of  aggressive  work.  He  was  constantly  kicking  over  the 
traces,  and  found  great  enjoyment  in  so  doing.  Against  the 
protestations  of  a  certain  Dr.  Boggs  and  Dr.  Stubbs,  he 
preached  from  the  pulpit  of  a  Methodist  church  in  New  Jer- 
sey. For  this  he  was  tried,  convicted,  and  censured  by  the 
bishop.  For  so  slight  and  trivial  an  affair  it  occasioned  a  lot  of 
talk  and  newspaper  comment,  and  I  recall  an  editorial  in  one 
of  the  town  dailies,  headed  "Tyng-a-ling,  a-ling."  His  church 
was  a  fine,  new,  brick  structure  on  the  quiet  corner  of  Madi- 
son Avenue  and  Forty-second  Street,  now  one  of  the  busiest 
and  most  congested  parts  of  the  city.  The  church  has  long 
since  disappeared  and  the  society  dissolved,  but  at  the  time 
of  my  connection  it  ran  its  dispensary  in  a  building  near  by  on 
Forty-third  Street.  It  was  at  the  occasional  meetings  of  the 
management  that  I  had  the  opportunity  of  meeting  and  talking 
with  Dr.  Tyng.  He  was  a  comparatively  young  fellow  like 
myself.  About  thirty,  I  should  say,  but  this  seemed  rather 
young  to  be  at  the  head  of  such  a  large  organization  with  so 
many  outlying  interests.  In  connection  with  this  trial  of  his  I 
recall  his  defiant  air,  and  the  remark  that  he  had  plucked  be- 
fore the  tail  feathers  of  plenty  of  such  fellows  as  Boggs  and 
Stubbs.  Like  so  many  such  human  engines,  he  was  a  great 
smoker,  to  the  detriment  of  body,  if  not  of  mind.  The  exact 
nature  of  the  difficulties  that  led  to  the  abandonment  of  his 
ministrations  I  am  unable  to  declare,  but  it  always  seemed  to 
me  a  very  sad  abandonment.  He  became  connected  with  the 
Paris  branch  of  the  Equitable  Life  Assurance  Society,  and 
died  in  that  city.  It  was  his  brother,  the  Rev.  Dudley  A. 
Tyng,  who,  on  his  death-bed,  used  the  expression,  "Stand  up 
for  Jesus,"  which  was  heralded  and  made  much  of  in  all 
religious  circles,  as  was  that  other  expression  by  a  dying 
Methodist,  "Sweeping  through  the  gates." 

Through  Mrs.  Davies,  a  patient,  I  had  occasion  to  know 
her  husband,  Judge  Henry  E.  Davies,  and  I  remember  when, 
on  first  meeting  him,  I  referred  to  the  fact  that  his  son,  Gen- 
eral Henry  E.,  Jr.,  had  commanded  the  brigade  in  which  I  had 


286  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

served  as  surgeon,  the  great  interest  and  pride  he  evinced  in  his 
son's  military  career.  The  family  was  notable  not  only  because 
of  these  two,  but  a  brother  of  the  judge  was  Charles,  the  dis- 
tinguished professor  of  mathematics  at  West  Point,  while  an- 
other brother  fought  at  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run  and  became 
a  major  general.  In  his  early  life  Judge  Davies  was  a  part- 
ner of  a  son  of  Chancellor  Kent,  later  becoming  corporation 
counsel  and  justice  of  the  Supreme  Court.  My  remem- 
brance of  him  is  that  of  a  man  so  genial  and  kindly  that  you 
felt  immediately  comfortable  and  at  home  in  his  presence. 
His  son,  the  General,  of  whose  brigade  my  regiment  was  for 
a  time  a  part,  I  did  not  get  to  know  well  until  after  the  war. 
He  was  a  fearless  soldier,  and  his  fine  aristocratic  bearing,  as 
he  headed  his  command,  is  fresh  before  me  to  this  day.  Yes, 
he  was  aristocratic  and  exclusive,  perhaps  a  little  too  much  so 
to  suit  some  of  his  more  plainly-reared  fellow  soldiers.  He 
was  what  one  would  call  a  natty  man,  from  his  carefully 
twisted  imperial  to  his  neatly  clad  feet,  and  I  was  told  that, 
while  in  permanent  camp,  he  dined  apart  from  his  staff.  Some 
called  him  a  martinet,  but  he  was  a  good  soldier.  One  of  his 
staff  I  knew  well,  Henry  E.  Tremain,  from  Albany,  just  a  boy, 
a  bright,  rollicking,  reckless,  yet  charming  fellow.  He  had 
just  received  his  promotion  to  lieutenant  colonel  in  the  line, 
and  in  his  first  fight  thereafter  was  wounded.  He  was  brought 
back  in  an  ambulance,  got  out  unaided,  and,  as  I  proffered  my 
arm,  he  laughed  and  said,  "It  doesn't  amount  to  much.  I 
don't  need  help."  Nevertheless,  within  forty-eight  hours  he 
was  dead.     It  is  the  way  of  war. 

In  his  day  Dr.  William  S.  Mayo  was  fairly  well  known  as 
an  author,  especially  through  his  novel,  "Never  Again,"  which 
I  read  just  before  I  formed  his  acquaintance.  It  represents 
very  good  work,  and  is  quite  interesting,  although  he  told  me 
that  his  best  book  was  "Kaloolah,"  or  "Journeyings  to  the 
Djebel  Kumri,"  supposed  to  be  the  autobiography  of  Jonathan 
Romer,  describing  his  adventures  in  Africa.  He  was  the 
author  also  of  "Flood  and  Field,"  or  "Tales  of  Battle  on 
Sea  and  Land."  He  boarded,  with  his  wife,  in  "Boss" 
Tweed's  former  residence,  corner  of  Forty-third  Street  and 
Fifth  Avenue,  where  I  made  my  professional  visits  to  them. 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  287 

He  was  surrounded  by  every  comfort,  even  luxury,  had  nothing 
to  do,  seemingly  nothing  to  disturb  him,  except  his  discontent 
with  things  as  they  were.  He  was  seldom  in  an  amiable  mood, 
and  my  most  distinct  remembrance  of  him  recalls  him  as  he 
stood  looking  out  of  the  window  watching  the  pranks  of  the 
gusty  March  wind,  complaining  of  the  weather  and  everything 
in  this  country  as  compared  with  other  lands  not  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

DR.  R.  H.  GILBERT FREDERICK  LOESER BENJAMIN  ALTMAN 

JOHN  JAY CAPTAIN  E.   L.  G.   ZALINSKI 

THE  public  who  now  ride  on  and  are  deafened  by  the 
eternal  clangor  of  the  Metropolitan  system  of  elevated 
roads,  little  reck  its  small  beginning,  or  of  him  whose 
name  was  first  associated  with  it.  In  the  seventies  a  Dr.  R.  H. 
Gilbert  came  to  me  professionally.  The  stress  and  strain  of  life 
had  been  too  much  for  him.  His  nervous  system  was  a  wreck, 
and  he  lived  not  many  years  after.  He  it  was  who  was  the 
originator,  or  at  least  the  most  efficient  advocate,  of  the  sys- 
tem of  elevated  travel,  and  the  first  construction  for  this  sys- 
tem in  this  city  went  by  his  name.  The  Ninth  Avenue  road 
was  originally  the  Gilbert  Road,  but  his  name  was  soon 
dropped  as  he  lost  control,  and  now  is  hardly  a  memory.  The 
fame  and  wealth  looked  for  by  him  went  to  others.  What  the 
merits  of  the  case  were  I  do  not  know,  but  I  found  him  a 
broken  and  disappointed  man,  with  tales  of  imperious  and  un- 
just treatment.  It  is  simply  another  illustration,  too  often 
seen,  that  he  who  originates  reaps  not  always  the  reward. 

Frederick  Loeser  was  a  man  of  whom  I  saw  much  both 
in  a  professional  and  a  friendly  way,  and  for  whom  I  had  a 
profound  respect  and  liking.  He  was  gradually  getting  away 
from  the  great  Brooklyn  business  which  he  had  built  up  with 
laborious  care  and  foresight,  and  was  beginning  to  enjoy  some 
of  the  leisure  and  bits  of  travel  that  he  had  so  well  earned. 
He  told  me  much  of  his  early  history.  How  he  had  come  to 
this  country,  poor  and  friendless,  and  had  taken  up  the  life  of 
a  common  peddler  with  his  pack  on  his  back.  In  character 
he  represented  the  higher  type  of  the  Jewish  race,  although 
he  had  no  affiliation  with  the  Jewish  religion.  He  was  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  Society  of  Ethical  Culture,  of  which 
Felix  Adler  is  the  head  in  this  city,  and  to  many  good  works 
he  was  a  liberal  contributor.  It  has  been  written  that  a  man's 
"religion  is  the  chief  fact  with  regard  to  him."  But  the  same 
writer  goes  on  to  say  that  by  religion  he  does  not  mean  the 

288 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  289 

church  creed  that  is  professed  or  the  articles  of  faith  that  are 
signed,  "for,"  adds  he,  "we  see  men  of  all  kinds  of  professed 
creeds,  and  no  creeds,  attain  to  almost  all  degrees  of  worth  or 
worthlessness,  under  each  or  any  of  them."  Loeser  professed 
no  creed  excepting  the  creed  of  right  living  and  sane  thinking. 
In  a  future  life  he  seemed  little  interested — only  in  the  life 
that  was  consciously  his.  His  real  feeling  about  the  matter 
was  concisely  expressed  as  we  were  driving  one  day  on  a  coun- 
try road  during  one  of  my  visits  to  his  country  home.  An  old 
country  farmer  with  horse  and  chaise  approached,  both  typical 
of  what  had  been  seen  for  generations  in  that  country.  As  we 
passed,  Loeser  nodded  his  head  and  remarked,  "that  is  my 
idea  of  immortality,  from  father  to  son,  one  generation  fol- 
loweth  another."  I  shall  always  remember  him  as  a  man  who, 
although  with  no  creed,  appreciated  his  vital  relations  to  this 
mysterious  universe  and  his  duties  here  as  few  men  do,  and 
who  lived  a  life  that  might  well  be  emulated  by  those  who 
think  they  have  a  better  understanding  of  and  a  closer  relation 
to  the  Infinite. 

Benjamin  Altman  was  a  man  of  another  order.  Unques- 
tionably he  had  many  excellent  traits  of  character,  and  the 
Altman  collection  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art  indi- 
cates his  devotion  to  art.  As  I  met  Mr.  Altman  but  once,  I 
can  have  very  little  to  say  about  him,  but  that  meeting  was  in 
a  way  so  interesting  and  amusing  that  I  venture  to  give  it. 
I  had  heard  of  Mr.  Altman  as  a  masterful  and  perhaps  im- 
perious man,  and  when  his  physician,  Dr.  Newton  Shaffer,  the 
well-known  orthopedic  surgeon,  requested  me  to  see  him  in 
consultation,  my  curiosity  was  aroused.  At  the  appointed 
hour  I  went  to  his  apartments.  Mr.  Altman  eyed  me  keenly 
as  I  met  him,  and  after  my  examination  asked  me  if  I  could 
help  him.  I  answered  that  I  thought  I  could.  "Do  you  think 
you  can  cure  me  in  a  week  or  two?"  To  this  I  answered, 
"No,"  as  he  had  been  ill  for  a  long  time.  "My  opinion  is," 
he  said,  "if  you  don't  succeed  in  a  week  you  will  not  succeed 
at  all."  "Mr.  Altman,"  I  replied,  "you  have  built  up  a  great 
business,  which  clearly  shows  your  commercial  ability,  but 
when  you  tell  me  in  my  profession  what  I  can  and  what  I  can- 
not do,  you  speak  from  the  fullness  of  your  ignorance  rather 


290  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

than  your  knowledge."  I  think  we  were  all  rather  astonished 
at  my  reply,  including  the  attending  physician  who  had  called 
me,  and  for  a  moment  a  painful  silence  prevailed.  Finally 
Mr.  Airman  broke  the  silence  by  saying  that  he  had  been 
thinking  of  trying  "hot  air."  "Mr.  Altaian, "  I  said,  "if  you 
have  your  mind  on  hot  air,  I  would  advise  you  to  try  it,"  and 
so  the  interview  ended.  A  few  days  after  I  met  the  doctor 
in  the  street.  "Mr.  Altaian,"  he  said,  "didn't  like  what  you 
said  to  him  the  other  day."  "I  suppose  not,"  was  my  reply, 
"and  an  apology  is  due  you  for  speaking  as  I  did  to  your 
patient."  "Not  at  all.  I  am  glad  you  did,  for  that  paid  him 
back  for  some  things  he  has  said  to  me."  I  always  gaze 
curiously  at  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Altman,  as  the  eyes  look 
down  on  one  from  the  wall  of  the  Museum  of  Art  where  his 
picture  hangs.  It  impresses  me  as  being  far  weaker,  but  more 
benignant  than  when  I  first  encountered  him. 

I  had  often  seen  John  Jay  from  afar.  At  the  Alpha  Delta 
Phi  conventions  and  banquets  he  was  a  familiar  figure,  and 
his  kindly  rubicund  face  and  commanding  figure  were  an  asset 
to  any  gathering.  After  a  serious  accident  which  he  experi- 
enced, I  got  to  know  him  better  in  a  professional  way.  He 
was  the  third  of  his  name,  and  although  an  eminently  modest 
man  he  did  not  conceal  an  honest  pride  in  his  ancestry.  He 
talked  of  anti-slavery  days,  and  referred  to  his  efforts  in  ad- 
vocacy of  the  admission  of  a  colored  church  to  the  Episcopal 
Convention.  In  this  he  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  his  grand- 
father, Chief  Justice  Jay,  of  whom  it  was  said  that  he  did 
more  to  abolish  negro  bondage  in  his  own  state  than  any  other 
man,  while  his  father,  Judge  William  Jay,  was  foremost  in  the 
subsequent  anti-slavery  movement.  John  Jay,  3rd,  was  born 
in  1 8 17  and  died  in  1894.  He  was  at  one  time  minister  to 
Austria,  and  was  counsel  for  many  fugitive  slaves.  The  seri- 
ous accident  that  rendered  him  helpless  and  hastened  his  end 
he  accepted  with  the  resignation  of  a  well-poised  mind,  and 
when  I  offered  him  sympathy,  he  replied  in  his  gentle  way, 
"Yes,  it  is  a  good  deal  of  a  bore." 

One  October  day  in  1864  I  found  myself  on  an  overcrowded 
steamer  on  my  way  to  rejoin  my  regiment  at  the  front,  during 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  291 

the  siege  of  Petersburg  and  Richmond.  I  saw  a  rosy-cheeked 
boy  of  not  more  than  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  wandering  aim- 
lessly about.  He  wore  the  shoulder-straps  of  a  second  lieu- 
tenant; and,  engaging  him  in  conversation,  I  found  that  he, 
too,  was  returning  to  duty  as  one  of  the  staff  of  General  Nel- 
son A.  Miles.  He  had  no  stateroom,  and  I  invited  him  to 
share  mine.  It  seems  that  in  a  spirit  of  adventure  he  had  a 
few  months  before  made  his  way  to  the  front,  fraternizing 
with  the  non-commissioned  officers  and  enlisted  men  of  Gen- 
eral Miles'  headquarters,  and  finally  attracting  the  attention 
of  the  General  himself.  Through  influence,  President  Lincoln 
made  him  a  second  lieutenant  and  now  though  but  a  boy  he 
was  a  full-fledged  staff  officer,  probably  the  youngest  in  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  At  City  Point  we  parted,  and  a  few 
weeks  after,  at  the  battle  of  Hatcher's  Run,  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him  as  he  galloped  over  the  field  on  some  duty.  During 
the  years  following  the  war  I  often  thought  of  the  boy  and 
wondered  what  had  become  of  him.  I  could  not  recall  his 
name,  only  that  it  was  Polish.  At  a  Loyal  Legion  gathering 
many  years  later  I  was  introduced  to  Captain  E.  L.  G.  Zalin- 
ski,  the  somewhat  noted  inventor  of  the  dynamite  gun,  and  I 
found  the  rosy-cheeked  boy  of  1864  had  merged  into  this 
stout,  bronzed,  bearded  man  of  the  nineties.  Zalinski  was  a 
versatile,  cheery  character,  but  I  believe  that  his  gun  did  not 
prove  altogether  a  success.  At  the  early  age  of  forty-six 
he  was  stricken  with  apoplexy  and  came  to  me.  For  some 
years,  even  when  able  to  get  around  only  by  the  aid  of  a 
wheel  chair  and  an  attendant,  he  frequently  came  to  Loyal 
Legion  and  Post  meetings.  Always  cheerful  and  optimistic, 
and  ready  for  a  joke,  he  was  game  to  the  last. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

REV.    THOMAS    R.    SLICER MONCURE    D.    CONWAY WILLIAM 

ASTOR J.    K.    EMMET REV.    ISAAC    K.    FUNK ROBERT 

A.  MCCURDY ALEXANDER  GRAHAM  BELL 

THE  well-known  Unitarian  minister,  Rev.  Thomas  R. 
Slicer,  D.D.,  I  have  pleasure  in  referring  to  in  these 
sketches,  not  only  because  of  his  gifts  of  thought  and 
ready  speech,  but  because  in  a  professional  way  I  gained  a 
high  place  in  his  confidence,  perhaps  not  for  any  skill  or  un- 
usual insight  on  my  part,  but  on  account  of  a  lamentable  lack 
of  these  on  the  part  of  others.  The  son  of  a  Methodist  min- 
ister of  some  distinction  in  Baltimore,  Slicer  himself  became  a 
Methodist  minister.  In  the  shouting  revivals  in  an  earlier 
day  of  that  denomination,  I  remember  his  zeal  and  activity 
in  urging  the  unrepentant  to  the  mourners'  bench.  His  emo- 
tional nature  had  full  sway  without  let  or  hindrance.  In  a 
few  years  he  tired  of  this,  and  we  find  him  preaching  as  a 
Congregational  minister,  and  soon  after  he  became  a  Uni- 
tarian. He  ministered  for  some  years  among  a  fine  people 
in  Providence,  R.  I.  Thence  he  went  to  Buffalo,  and  while 
there  he  was  active  in  civil  affairs  and  other  good  work  out- 
side his  church.  During  this  time  I  attended  a  medical  con- 
vention at  Buffalo  and  met  an  old  friend,  a  distinguished  sur- 
geon of  that  city,  who  indeed  operated  upon  President 
McKinley.  He  was  an  Episcopalian,  my  own  denomination, 
and  when  I  asked  him  about  my  old  friend,  Slicer,  he  imme- 
diately stiffened.  "Slicer,"  he  said,  "is  a  dangerous  man,  and 
does  more  harm  to  young  men  in  a  religious  way  than  any 
man  in  Buffalo."  It  was  an  amazing  estimate  of  another 
man's  work  which  could  only  count  for  good.  It  was  a  strong 
arraignment  of  the  critical  sanity  of  my  good  friend,  the  med- 
ical doctor,  and  can  only  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  mis- 
took creeds  for  religion,  and  thought  that  the  one  was  as  vital 
as  the  other.  From  Buffalo,  Dr.  Slicer  came  to  New  York 
as  minister  of  All  Souls'  Church,  to  succeed  the  famous  Dr. 
Bellows,  famous  not  only  as  a  minister  but  as  the  founder  of 

292 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  293 

the  greater  Sanitary  Commission  of  the  Civil  War.  While 
Dr.  Slicer  was  minister  in  Providence  he  came  to  my  office 
in  great  distress  of  mind,  saying  that  his  physician  had  told 
him  he  was  suffering  from  the  beginnings  of  locomotor  ataxia, 
and  that  whatever  he  had  to  do,  he  should  do  quickly.  After  I 
had  examined  him  very  carefully  and  thoroughly,  he  appeal- 
ingly  asked,  "What  do  you  think,  Doctor?"  "Mr.  Slicer,"  I 
replied,  "so  far  as  locomotor  ataxia  is  concerned,  you  will  live 
a  hundred  years."  The  eagerness  with  which  he  received  this 
assertion  can  better  be  imagined  than  described.  In  diagnosis 
an  unpardonable  error  had  been  made,  causing  intense  mental 
suffering.  Later  in  life  he  again  came  to  me,  very  blue.  He 
said  that  a  physician  had  told  him  that  he  had  synovitis  (water 
on  the  knee),  and  that  he  might  be  laid  up  for  many  months. 
As  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind,  I  was  able  to  so  reassure 
him,  but  who  can  overestimate  the  culpability  of  such  igno- 
rance on  the  part  of  the  medical  man?  Notwithstanding  my 
two  experiences  with  the  same  person,  such  flagrant  examples 
of  false  diagnosis,  however,  are  rare. 

The  Grolier  Club  published  Slicer's  book,  "From  Poet 
to  Premier,"  limiting  the  edition  to  twelve  hundred  and  fifty 
copies,  one  of  which  he  presented  to  me.  In  it  he  writes  most 
interestingly  and  feelingly  of  six  men,  all  born  in  the  same 
year,  1809.  The  article  on  Lincoln  is  especially  good,  but 
each  is  worthy  of  the  personality  of  which  it  treats. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Authors'  Club  one  evening  I  had  the 
privilege  of  sitting  with  my  friend,  Dr.  Titus  Munson  Coan, 
whose  guest  I  was,  at  the  same  round  table  with  Dr.  Slicer 
and  Moncure  D.  Conway.  Conway  had  long  given  up  his 
preaching  in  London,  and  although  then  an  old  man,  was  in- 
tellectually as  vigorous  as  ever.  Although  bred  a  Methodist, 
he  was,  like  Emerson,  plainly  beyond  the  traditions  even  of 
Unitarianism.  He  was  positively  and  absolutely  materialistic, 
and  that  evening  these  two  clever  men,  holding  different  views 
regarding  man's  destiny,  had  a  free  field.  Slicer  was  ready 
and  even  brilliant,  but  compared  with  the  deep,  philosophic 
tone  of  Conway's  arguments,  those  of  Slicer  seemed  super- 
ficial and  suffered  by  comparison.  Conway  would  admit  of  no 
premises  for  discussion  that  were  not  founded  upon  demon- 
strated facts,  and  so  easily  held  the  advantage. 


294  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

If  it  be  an  honor  to  hold  professional  relationships  with 
persons  of  enormous  wealth,  then  I  have  been  somewhat  hon- 
ored in  my  time.  The  overshadowing  dignity  of  a  great 
office  ofttimes  uplifts  the  man  who  holds  it,  but  great  wealth 
alone  seldom  does  so. 

One  day  a  gentleman  came  to  me,  soliciting  my  professional 
services.  He  did  not  give  his  name,  and  on  leaving  paid  his 
fee  in  cash.  He  came  many  times  thereafter,  but  soon  left 
his  card  on  my  table,  on  which  was  inscribed  the  name  Wil- 
liam Astor.  Mrs.  Astor  accompanied  him  one  morning,  and 
she,  too,  became  a  patient.  He  was  about  to  sail  for  Europe, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  attend  his  wife,  subsequently 
the  famous  leader  of  New  York  society,  at  her  home,  and 
suggested  that,  as  the  treatment  might  be  prolonged,  I  should 
make  the  charges  as  reasonable  as  possible.  As  I  had  at  first, 
when  he  came  incognito,  very  much  underestimated  Mr. 
Astor's  financial  status,  and  had  undercharged  rather  than 
overcharged  him,  his  precaution  seemed  to  me  somewhat  un- 
necessary. At  every  visit  to  Mrs.  Astor  she,  too,  paid  me  in 
cash.  I  remember  seeing  her  son,  John  Jacob,  then  a  boy, 
playing  about  the  house.  It  was  his  sad  fate  to  go  down  with 
the  murdered  Lusitania.  Never  was  I  made  to  feel  more  un- 
comfortable in  any  professional  association.  Not  that  I  was 
treated  with  distinct  discourtesy,  but  there  hovered  in  the 
atmosphere  a  nameless  something  which  bore  heavily  upon 
my  amour  propre,  and  which  seemed  to  indicate  Mrs.  Astor's 
sense  of  my  inferiority  and  that  my  presence  was  simply  toler- 
ated. A  number  of  visits  were  made  followed  by  appointments 
for  subsequent  days.  One  morning,  however,  a  servant  from 
the  house  brought  to  my  office  the  apparatus  which  I  had  been 
using,  and  dumped  it  in  the  hallway  without  a  word  of  ex- 
planation. And  thus  was  I  dismissed.  I  was  not  sorry  for 
my  dismissal,  but  should  have  preferred  it  in  some  other 
manner.  This  William  Astor  was  the  second  of  that  name, 
and  the  third  in  descent  from  the  original  John  Jacob  Astor, 
the  founder  of  the  enormous  real  estate  holdings  of  the  Astor 
family.  At  that  time  Mr.  Astor  lived  in  a  spacious  brick 
"building  on  the  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Thirty-fourth 
Street,  and  on  the  other  corner  was  the  house  of  his  brother, 
the  second  John  Jacob  Astor,  whose  son,  preferring  England 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  295 

to  America,  has  been  for  many  years  an  English  subject.  His 
wealth  has  yielded  him  a  peerage.  The  father  of  these  two, 
William  Astor,  Sr.,  at  that  time  lived  nearby  on  the  corner 
of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Thirty-fifth  Street. 

The  William  Astor  whom  I  knew  seemed  to  me  rather  a 
cypher  in  affairs  civic  and  social,  and  devoted  to  his  own 
amusements  such  as  they  were.  His  name  was  seldom  seen 
in  connection  with  the  ultra-fashionable  functions  of  the  day, 
where  his  wife's  name  was  supreme. 

The  quaint  and  old-fashioned  simplicity  of  their  lowly- 
born  ancestor  stands  forth  in  amusing  contrast  to  the  aristo- 
cratic social  status  of  a  later  generation  of  Astors.  To  an 
acquaintance,  worth  only  a  million,  Astor  is  credited  with  say- 
ing that  the  former  was  just  as  happy  as  if  he  were  rich, 
and  that  he  himself  (Astor)  got  only  his  board  and  clothes. 
In  that  interesting  and  informing  book,  "The  Diary  of  James 
Gallatin,"  the  American  ambassador  to  France,  "Mr.  Astor" 
is  often  mentioned.  The  latter  evidently  had  high  admiration 
for  the  ability  and  character  of  Albert  Gallatin,  the  dis- 
tinguished grandfather  of  the  author  of  the  diary,  and  wished 
to  take  him  into  partnership  with  a  fifth  share  in  a  business 
whose  profits  were  $100,000  a  year.  Mr.  Gallatin  refused 
and  his  reputed  reason  was  that,  although  he  respected  Mr. 
Astor,  he  never  could  place  himself  upon  the  same  level  with 
him.  "Whereupon,"  the  diarist  comments,  "I  am  not  sur- 
prised, as  Astor  was  a  butcher's  son  at  Waldorf,  came  as  an 
emigrant  to  this  country  with  a  pack  on  his  back.  He  peddled 
furs,  was  very  clever,  and  is,  I  believe,  one  of  the  kings  of 
the  fur  trade.  He  dined  here,  and  ate  his  ice  cream  and  peas 
with  a  knife."  Later  he  writes :  "Really  Mr.  Astor  is  dread- 
ful. Father  has  to  be  civil  to  him  (this  was  in  Paris),  as  in 
1 8 12-13  ne  rendered  great  services  to  the  Treasury.  He 
came  to  dejeuner  to-day.  We  were  simply  en  famille,  he  sit- 
ting next  to  Frances.  He  actually  wiped  his  fingers  on  the 
sleeves  of  her  fresh  white  spencer.  Mamma  in  discreet  tones 
said,  'Oh,  Mr.  Astor,  I  must  apologize,  they  have  forgotten 
to  give  you  a  serviette.'    I  think  he  felt  foolish." 

In  his  day  all  theatregoers  knew  of  J.  K.  Emmet,  the  actor. 
In  his  line  he  was  supreme,  not  only  in  the  crowds  he  drew, 


296  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

but  in  the  money  he  made.  His  wife  was  for  a  long  time  a 
patient  of  mine,  and  Emmet,  alert,  talkative,  and  good-na- 
turedly egotistical,  frequently  came  to  my  office  with  her.  On 
one  occasion  I  said  that  I  had  secured  seats  for  her  husband's 
famous  performance,  which  he  had  given  hundreds  of  times. 
She  seemed  somewhat  disappointed  since  the  "great  dog" 
which,  as  she  explained,  would  add  so  much  to  the  effective- 
ness of  the  play,  needed  further  drilling,  and  it  was  not  the 
intention  to  have  him  appear  until  the  following  performance. 
In  order  that  we  might  see  him,  however,  she  would  get  her 
husband  to  call  a  special  rehearsal,  which  I  understood  was 
done.  At  all  events,  the  dog  appeared  in  the  play  and  we 
flattered  ourselves  that  we  were  the  recipients  of  an  unusual 
compliment.  Emmet  began  life  as  a  house  painter  in  the 
West,  St.  Louis,  I  think,  and  of  their  early  married  life  Mrs. 
Emmet  told  me  much.  In  his  early  stage  life,  before  fame 
came  to  him,  his  hardships  were  those  of  many  another  star. 
Mrs.  Emmet  told  of  their  struggles  with  poverty,  and  their 
hard  life  of  travel  in  fufilling  second-  or  third-class  engage- 
ments. In  his  palmy  days,  his  income  became  so  great  that 
our  actor  launched  into  all  sorts  of  extravagant  expenditures. 
He  built  a  fine  mansion  in  the  outskirts  of  Albany,  but  when 
days  of  distress  came  and  he  was  obliged  to  part  with  it,  it 
came  into  the  possession  of  a  famous  democrat,  ex-Governor 
Hill,  afterwards  senator. 

It  was  drink  that  ruined  Emmet.  He  had  spells  of  chronic 
exaltation.  His  fame  as  an  actor  made  him  superior  in  his 
own  estimation  to  other  men.  Drink  finally  overmastered  him 
and  wrought  his  ruin;  not  all  at  once,  but  the  intervals  of 
sobriety  grew  less  and  less,  and  the  length  of  the  debauch 
greater  and  greater.  Once,  for  two  years,  as  Mrs.  Emmet 
told  me,  he  kept  in  this  chronic  state,  and  during  this  time  she 
did  not  see  him.  Finally  he  returned,  worn,  ragged  and 
penitent.  Notwithstanding  these  dreadful  ways,  he  seemed 
to  be  most  fond  of  his  wife,  and  when  money  was  coming  in 
he  would  lavish  on  her  anything  she  wished.  He  could  not 
be  induced,  however,  to  settle  upon  her  any  sum  of  money. 
He  did  not  wish  her  to  be  independent  of  him,  but  Mrs.  Em- 
met was  wise  and  far-seeing,  for  instead  of  spending  every- 
thing he  gave  her,   she   carefully  saved  until  she  had  some 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  297 

$30,000.  I  remember  her  anxiety  about  her  son,  who  sub- 
sequently went  on  the  stage  and  reproduced  some  of  his 
father's  plays.  She  counselled  with  me  in  regard  to  what 
she  considered  some  of  her  son's  wayward  ways,  and  con- 
fessed that  even  as  a  boy  he  was  allowed  to  have  his  own 
separate  bank  account  and  check  book.  Finally  the  boy's  bank 
account  was  taken  away,  and  he  was  allowed  but  fifty  cents 
a  week,  extremes  of  treatment  which  were  far  from  wise. 
Finally,  a  separation  took  place.  Later  the  father  died,  the 
victim  of  his  indulgences,  and  of  the  mother's  fate  I  never 
knew.    But  she,  too,  probably  has  passed  away  long  ere  this. 

One  peculiarity  of  Emmet's  addiction  to  drink  was  this: 
He  did  not  drink  convivially.  When  the  "spell"  came  over 
him,  as  his  wife  called  it,  he  would  go  alone  and  drink,  and 
not  with  boon  companions.  Poor  fellow,  it  was  not  vice,  I 
take  it,  that  held  him  in  its  grip,  but  inebriety,  a  veritable 
malady,  as  surely  fatal  in  most  cases  as  the  most  deadly 
disease. 

Dr.  Isaac  K.  Funk  founded  the  firm  of  Funk  and  Wagnalls, 
so  well  known  as  a  publishing  house.  He  came  to  me  for 
treatment  for  what  is  termed  white  atrophy  of  the  optic  nerve. 
It  was  finally  determined  that  my  treatment  could  do  nothing 
for  him,  and  he  gradually  lost  his  sight.  Dr.  Funk  was  in 
many  ways  an  interesting  character,  and  his  business  ability 
was  evidenced  by  his  success  and  prominence  as  a  publisher. 
He  founded  the  Literary  Digest,  and  issued  the  Standard 
Dictionary.  He  had  fads,  one  of  which  was  simplified  spell- 
ing, and  the  other,  psychic  phenomena.  He  was  the  author 
of  a  book  entitled,  "The  Widow's  Mite,"  a  copy  of  which  he 
presented  to  me.  It  was  about  a  coin  dating  from  the  time  of 
Christ,  and  which  had  been  in  the  possession  of  Henry  Ward 
Beecher.  This  coin  disappeared,  and  without  going  into  de- 
tails and  explanations,  most  of  which  indeed,  as  told  by  Dr. 
Funk,  have  escaped  me,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  on  the  occa- 
sion of  a  spiritualistic  seance  in  Brooklyn,  at  which  the  doctor 
was  present,  the  medium  said  that  the  coin  would  be  found  in 
a  certain  obscure  corner  of  the  big  safe  in  the  publishing  house 
of  Funk  and  Wagnalls.  Search  was  made  and  it  was  found. 
There  can  be  no  question  concerning  Dr.  Funk's  sincerity  and 


298  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

honesty.  He  evidently  did  not  wish  to  be  considered  a  spirit- 
ualist, and  said  that  his  mind  was  open  and  he  only  told  the 
facts  observed  along  this  line  of  research.  I  was  indeed  im- 
pressed by  his  sincerity,  but  could  easily  see  that  there  was  a 
vein  of  credulity  in  his  nature  that  over-matched  his  reason- 
ing faculties.  He  placed  too  much  confidence  in  human  testi- 
mony and  failed  to  eliminate  the  sources  of  error  that  made 
null  and  void  the  statements  of  the  average  man  in  dealing 
with  the  occult.  I  think  he  really  believed  in  spiritualistic 
phenomena,  but  persuaded  himself  that  he  did  not  quite  be- 
lieve in  it,  so  as  not  to  be  classed  as  a  spiritualist. 

To  the  house  of  Robert  McCurdy,  the  elder,  father  of 
Robert  A.  McCurdy,  former  president  of  the  Mutual  Life  In- 
surance Company  of  New  York,  I  was  called  to  see  his  niece, 
a  Mrs.  Salisbury,  wife  of  Professor  Salisbury  of  Yale.  Mr. 
McCurdy  was  the  grandfather  of  twin  sisters,  one  of  whom 
married  Alexander  Graham  Bell,  the  well-known  inventor  of 
the  telephone,  and  it  is  because  of  a  certain  interesting  reminis- 
cence relating  to  the  latter  that  I  refer  to  this  professional 
relationship.  Mr.  McCurdy  was  chatty  and  agreeable,  and 
like  all  elderly  persons  fond  of  retrospection.  On  one  of 
my  visits  he  told  me  that  he  had  just  received  a  letter  from 
his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bell,  who  was  then  abroad.  He  read  it 
to  me  with  evident  pride,  for  it  was  cleverly  written  and 
abounded  in  interesting  descriptive  matter.  "In  this  room," 
he  said,  "my  granddaughter,  Mrs.  Bell,  when  a  child,  was 
severely  ill  with  scarlet  fever,  which  left  her  perfectly  deaf." 
When  the  twins  had  grown  up,  Mr.  Bell,  then  a  young  man, 
with  neither  fame  nor  fortune,  became  a  frequent  visitor. 
There  was  no  question  of  his  deep  interest,  and  it  was  sup- 
posed that  the  interest  centered  in  the  sister  who  could  hear. 
But  no,  it  was  the  other  who  claimed  his  special  affection,  and 
whom  he  finally  married.  Mr.  McCurdy  had  much  to  say 
about  his  distinguished  son-in-law's  subsequent  career,  all  of 
which  is  now  known  to  the  world.  To  choose  a  wife  who  is 
deaf,  is  without  question  a  wonderful  tribute  to  the  gifts  and 
graces  of  the  one  so  chosen. 

I  recently  read  in  the  morning  papers  that  Alexander 
Graham  Bell,  who  sent  the  first  telephone  message  forty-one 
years  ago,  and  who  has  now  reached  his  seventieth  year,  has 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  299 

received  the  Civic  Forum  medal  of  honor  for  distinguished 
public  service.  The  original  telephone  instrument  was  ex- 
hibited, and  a  large  map  was  shown  on  which  was  outlined,  by 
means  of  small  electric  lights,  the  course  of  the  transconti- 
nental telephone  line  from  New  York  to  San  Francisco. 

Dr.  Bell  is  a  very  modest  man,  and  in  his  speech  he  en- 
deavored to  share  his  honors  with  those  who  had  been  asso- 
ciated with  him  in  developing  the  telephone;  he  admitted 
that  he  might  have  some  credit  for  blazing  the  trail,  but  was 
embarrassed  with  the  honor  which  had  been  done  him,  be- 
cause much  of  it  should  go  to  the  many  men  who  have  since 
improved  upon  and  extended  its  use.  "Why,"  said  he,  "I  am 
not  even  able  to  understand  some  of  the  mechanisms  which 
have  been  introduced  into  the  use  of  the  telephone.  When  they 
telephoned  from  Arlington  and  were  heard  at  Eiffel  Tower 
in  Paris,  I  could  not  see  how  it  was  done,  nor  could  I  under- 
stand how  an  operator  in  Hawaii  was  able  to  pick  up  the 
message."  Dr.  Bell  told  how,  shortly  after  he  got  the  idea 
of  the  telephone  in  1874,  he  had  called  on  Professor  Henry 
at  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  who  was  then  recognized  as  the 
greatest  authority  on  electricity  in  America.  Professor  Henry 
listened  to  his  plan  kindly,  and  told  him  that  he  thought  he 
had  the  germ  of  a  great  invention.  "I  told  him  that  the 
trouble  was  that  I  did  not  have  enough  knowledge  of  elec- 
tricity," said  Dr.  Bell.  He  answered,  "Get  it."  And  here 
comes  a  rather  interesting  and  unusual  proposition.  It  is  to 
the  effect  that  if  he  had  known  much  about  electricity,  he  would 
never  have  invented  the  telephone.  He  would  have  thrown 
up  the  idea  as  wildly  improbable,  for  his  study  had  been  that 
of  sound  alone. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

ADRIAN  ISELIN GEORGE  KEMP JAMES  B.   HAGGIN 

J.    HOOKER    HAMERSLY THE    COLGATES 

ASA   PACKER 

ADRIAN  ISELIN,  Sr.,  was  a  fine  old  New  Yorker, 
who  came  to  me  many  times  and  whom  I  got  to  know 
very  well,  as  I  did  his  son-in-law,  Col.  Delancey  Kane, 
so  well  known  in  New  York  society  and  in  sporting  circles  a 
generation  ago.  Mr.  Iselin  was  of  Swiss  descent,  and  was 
born  in  Switzerland,  I  think.  He  was  proud  of  that  little  land 
and  of  his  ancestry.  This  was  evidenced  when  on  one  occa- 
sion there  were  some  false,  irresponsible  rumors  concerning 
financial  irregularity  connected  with  the  name  of  one  of  his 
family.  "The  name  of  Iselin,  such  as  it  is,  has  remained  un- 
tarnished through  five  hundred  years,"  said  he  to  me.  Mr. 
Iselin  was  an  ideal  patient,  and  how  obedient  he  was  to  the 
behest  of  his  family  physician  and  the  suggestion  of  his  wife, 
I  had  occasion  to  know.  I  had  several  times  relieved  him  of 
rheumatic  attack  by  physical  methods.  It  seems  that  these 
visits  to  me  were  unknown  to  his  family  physician,  who  was  an 
acquaintance  of  mine.  When  Mrs.  Iselin  mentioned  the  mat- 
ter to  him,  he  was  very  much  disturbed.  "This  is  all  wrong," 
he  said;  "I  should  have  been  consulted.  The  treatment  is  in 
no  way  indicated  and  may  do  harm,  and  must  be  stopped  at 
once."  Mr.  Iselin,  with  that  fine  sense  of  courtesy  that  always 
characterized  him,  came  to  my  office  personally  to  inform  me 
of  the  decision  of  the  conclave,  but  I  am  very  sure  that  per- 
sonally he  regretted  the  decision. 

Unquestionably  Mr.  Iselin  was  more  or  less  of  an  aristo- 
crat, but  his  was  the  aristocracy  not  so  much  of  wealth  as  of 
good  manners,  associated  with  genuine  kindliness  of  feeling 
toward  his  fellow  men  of  whatsoever  degree.  I  was  im- 
pressed by  his  charitable  judgments  of  men  and  affairs.  He 
seemed  to  me  a  man  of  great  purity  of  character. 

In  the  early  seventies  of  the  last  century,  there  was  a  brutal 
murder  which  set  all  New  York  agog  and  became  almost  a 

300 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  301 

national  sensation.  A  gentleman,  Avery  D.  Putnam,  was  in 
a  Broadway  horse  car  escorting  a  lady  home  from  the  theatre. 
He  had  some  words  with  a  surly  and  boisterous  young  fellow 
by  the  name  of  Foster,  who  was  somewhat  under  the  influ- 
ence of  liquor.  As  Mr.  Putnam  alighted  from  the  car,  Foster, 
who  had  deliberately  detached  a  car  hook  from  its  place, 
was  awaiting  him  and  struck  him  a  deadly  blow.  The  mur- 
derer was  caught,  and  after  a  long  trial  was  convicted  and 
hanged.  The  uncle  of  the  criminal  was  a  Mr.  George  Kemp, 
a  very  wealthy  wholesale  drug  merchant,  well  known  in  com- 
mercial circles,  and  whose  descendants  are  equally  well  known 
in  the  fashionable  life  of  the  day.  It  so  happened  that  the 
brother  of  the  murdered  man,  and  Mr.  Kemp,  the  uncle  of 
the  murderer,  were  both  at  the  time  under  my  professional 
care.  With  the  latter  the  painful  subject  was  never  dis- 
cussed, but  Mr.  Putnam  talked  freely  about  it.  There  had 
been  an  unusual  number  of  arrests  without  convictions  in  other 
murder  cases,  and  the  public  was  in  an  excitable  frame  of 
mind.  This  murderer  had  been  caught  red-handed  and  the 
press  universally  clamored  for  justice.  The  Kemp  money  was 
poured  lavishly  out  for  the  defence  and  for  the  honor  of  the 
name,  while  the  Putnams,  without  fortune,  strove  as  vigor- 
ously with  tongue  and  pen  for  the  prosecution.  The  latter 
won  and  the  murderer  was  in  due  course  convicted  and  exe- 
cuted. Mr.  Putnam,  in  his  conversations  with  me,  disclaimed 
any  feelings  of  vindictiveness,  and  his  manner  and  words  all 
supported  this  statement.  He  felt  that  he  was  performing  a 
sacred  duty  to  the  memory  of  his  brother  and  to  the  public  as 
well.  Mr.  Kemp  was  a  large,  fine-looking  man,  altogether 
a  gentleman  in  appearance,  having  risen,  as  I  understood, 
from  the  humble  position  of  a  porter  to  the  head  of  a  great 
establishment.  I  think  that  his  natural  temperament  was 
rather  stern  and  uncompromising,  and  this  associated  with  an 
irritability  due  to  physical  causes,  often  rendered  him  quick 
to  be  unjust.  On  one  occasion  he  was  driven  to  the  office  in  a 
cab.  He  paid  the  man  and  a  moment  after  opened  the  win- 
dow and  called  to  him,  and  asserted  that  he  had  not  received 
the  correct  change.  The  driver  defended  himself,  whereupon 
Mr.  Kemp  spoke  harshly,  called  him  an  evil  name,  and  said 
he   would  never   hire   him   again.      Glancing   down,   he   saw 


3o2  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

the  missing  bill  on  the  floor,  whereupon,  instead  of  apologiz- 
ing, or  even  indicating  that  he  had  found  the  bill,  he  instantly 
shut  the  window,  and  the  poor  fellow  went  away  conscious  of 
his  innocence,  and  yet  under  a  cloud. 

Mr.  Kemp  was,  I  think,  more  or  less  of  a  "rounder."  By 
a  "rounder,"  I  mean  a  rich  patient  who  goes  from  one  doctor 
to  another,  thus  helping  to  fill  many  pockets  without  much 
good  to  himself.  After  a  while  his  visits  to  me  ceased  for  a 
time.  Happening  in  the  office  of  my  former  associate,  Dr. 
Beard,  one  day,  Mr.  Kemp  was  announced.  Under  a  cer- 
tain impulse,  not  caring  to  meet  him  and  knowing  that  he 
would  not  care  to  meet  me,  I  stepped  into  an  adjoining  small 
room,  from  which  there  was  no  egress,  and  thus  found  myself 
imprisoned  for  a  full  half  hour  while  Beard  was  engaged  with 
my  former  patient.  Beard  took  in  the  full  humor  of  the  situa- 
tion, drawing  my  name  into  the  conversation,  but  I  am  bound 
to  say  that  my  old  patient  said  nothing  that  caused  any  tingling 
of  the  ears.  Indeed,  he  soon  left  Beard  and  came  back  to  me, 
of  which  fact  I  was  not  slow  to  let  the  latter  know.  Mr. 
Kemp  was  the  owner  of  the  Buckingham  Hotel,  opposite  the 
Catholic  Cathedral,  in  which  he  took  great  pride.  Entering 
the  hotel  one  morning,  I  saw  Mr.  Kemp  at  a  little  distance, 
and  was  about  passing  without  again  looking  when  he  ac- 
costed me  very  pleasantly.  I  think  he  was  conscious  of  his 
occasional  lapses  from  good  nature  in  the  past,  for  when  I 
asked  him  how  he  was,  he  answered  that  he  was  feeling  very 
well  and  was  rather  more  amiable  than  he  used  to  be. 

The  coincidences  that  occur  in  one's  relationships  with  other 
people  are  often  interesting.  A  Mr.  Nash  owned  a  very  fine 
brown-stone  house  on  Fifth  Avenue,  adjoining  the  Bucking- 
ham Hotel,  and  while  coming  to  me,  unburdened  his  mind  of 
a  great  grievance.  It  seems  that  the  owner  of  the  Bucking- 
ham had  discovered  that  the  great  front  stoop  of  the  dwelling 
house  impinged  a  few  inches  on  his  property.  It  was  doing 
no  harm,  and,  so  long  as  he  had  been  ignorant  of  the  fact,  had 
occasioned  no  annoyance.  Now,  however,  he  was  up  in  arms. 
He  ordered  its  instant  removal,  but  the  other  demurred.  Suit 
was  brought,  and  during  the  interregnum  I  was  the  recipient 
of  both  sides  of  the  case.     Law,  however,  was  on  the  side  of 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  303 

the  Buckingham,  and  our  friend,  perforce,  removed  the  en- 
croaching stones. 

Truly  the  vagaries  of  man  passeth  understanding.  Directly 
in  the  rear  of  Mr.  Kemp's  Fifth  Avenue  house  stood  another 
fine  house  with  two  or  three  windows,  one  above  another, 
which  overlooked  the  other's  backyard.  When  the  Fifth 
Avenue  house  was  built,  its  owner  ordered  the  owner  of  the 
house  in  the  rear  to  seal  these  windows.  The  other  demurred, 
as  in  the  other  case,  Mr.  Nash  had  demurred.  He  had  for 
so  long  enjoyed  the  benefits  of  additional  outlook,  light,  and 
air  that  he  was  loath  to  give  them  up.  He  offered  to  put  in 
opaque  glass  windows  that  would  not  open,  so  that  light  might 
at  least  be  left  him.  But  Mr.  Kemp  was  inexorable,  and  as 
nothing  was  done,  he  himself  at  some  expense,  erected  a  cut- 
out that  covered  each  window  from  top  to  bottom.  The  mis- 
take was  made,  however,  of  fastening  this  barrier  to  the 
other's  house,  who  in  exercise  of  his  inalienable  right  had  the 
fastenings  quickly  cut  away  and  the  whole  thing  fell  to  the 
ground.  At  still  greater  expense,  Mr.  Kemp  put  up  another 
obscurator  not  at  all  interfering  with  his  adversary's  house, 
and  to  this  day  it  still  stands,  mute  evidence  not  alone  of  a 
tempest  in  a  teapot,  but  of  the  foolishness  of  man. 

In  my  brief  professional  relationship  with  Mr.  James  B. 
Haggin,  I  found  him  a  thoroughly  genial  and  friendly  old 
man.  He  died  recently,  joining  the  vast  majority  of  my  old 
patients  of  special  note.  By  this,  however,  it  must  not  be  in- 
ferred that  I  was  in  any  measure  instrumental  in  causing  such 
a  wholesale  demise !  In  fact  it  may  rather  be  said  that,  in 
spite  of  me,  most  of  my  patients  lived  to  a  ripe  old  age ! 
Strange  to  say,  I  had  never  heard  of  such  a  man  as  James  B. 
Haggin,  and  when  I  called  him  Hagin,  he  said  shortly,  but 
pleasantly  enough,  "My  name  is  Haggin,  sir,  Haggin."  He 
was  not  very  rich,  as  compared  with  some  other  patients  men- 
tioned in  these  pages — Vanderbilt,  Astor,  and  Moses  Taylor; 
yet  his  estate  settled  up  for  something  over  twenty  millions. 
He  was  always  a  mining  man,  and  the  foundation  of  his  for- 
tune was  laid  in  early  California  days.  He  was  also  one  of 
the  leading  thoroughbred  breeders  in  the  country,  and  owned 
tihe   well-known   Elmendorf   Stud   Farm   at   Lexington,    Ky. 


3o4  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

This  stock  farm,  he  told  me,  consisted  of  about  eight  thousand 
acres  of  land  which  was  appraised  after  his  death  at  some 
two  million  dollars.  He  was  not  averse  to  talking  about  his 
early  beginnings,  and  when  I  asked  him  some  questions  about 
such  a  great  stock  farm  as  he  owned,  showing  my  ignorance 
in  such  matters,  he  said  he  should  be  glad  to  have  me  come 
to  Kentucky  some  day  and  see  it.  His  invitation  was  in- 
definite and  he  had  about  the  same  expectation  of  my  accept- 
ing it,  I  imagine,  as  did  Mr.  Astor  when  he  said  he  would  like 
me  to  go  off  with  him  on  his  yacht  some  day. 

If  Mr.  J.  Hooker  Hamersley  was  neither  very  notable  nor 
very  interesting,  some  members  of  his  family  were  decidedly 
so.  I  saw  much  of  this  Mr.  Hamersley  in  the  nineties,  and 
something  also  of  his  charming  wife,  who  was  a  Miss  Chis- 
holm,  and  also  a  patient  of  mine.  She  was  a  devoted  mother, 
and  I  recall  a  remark  she  made  to  me  regarding  her  own 
children — "that  whatever  befalls,  one  must  stick  by  them." 
These  two,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  I  believe  now  inherit  the  family 
fortune.  Mr.  Hamersley  was  very  amiable  and  democratic, 
and  yet  quite  unmistakably  proud  of  his  forbears  and  the 
family  names.  He  was  very  religious  so  far  as  creed  went, 
evidently  sincere,  and  a  man  of  good  works.  In  theology, 
however,  he  was  as  narrow  as  a  line,  being  a  rather  bigoted 
adherent  of  the  old-fashioned  Low-Church  section  of  Episco- 
palianism.  He  was  in  greater  sympathy  with  any  kind  of 
non-conformist  faith  than  with  anything  savoring  of  High 
Churchism.  To  be  a  Methodist  or  a  Baptist  was  better  than 
being  a  High  Churchman.  In  making  that  assertion  to  me 
I  was  able  to  counter  it,  and  so  in  a  way  to  show  the  absurdity 
of  such  petty  distinctions,  by  referring  to  the  views  of  an  old 
friend  who  was  himself  a  High  Churchman,  good  and  honest, 
too.  He  was  a  clergyman,  and  with  such  prejudices  and  nar- 
rowness of  view  that  I  verily  believe  he  would  have  counte- 
nanced almost  atheism  and  no  religion,  rather  than  the  reli- 
gion of  one  of  the  outside  sects. 

Poor  human  nature,  where  too  often  blind  belief  means 
more  than  evidence!  I  said  that  Mr.  Hamersley  was  proud 
of  his  name,  and  in  a  way  rightly  so.  He  claimed  to  be  a 
direct  descendant  of  Hugo  le  Kinge,  who  went  to  England 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  305 

about  1366,  and  acquired  large  estates  known  as  Hamersley, 
from  which  the  family  name  was  derived.  However  that  may 
be,  his  great-grandfather  was  William  Hamersley,  who  was 
born  in  England  in  1687,  came  to  this  country,  became  a  vestry- 
man of  Trinity,  and  is  buried  there,  as  is  his  son  Andrew  and  his 
grandson  Lewis  Carri  Hamersley.  John  W.  Hamersley  of 
the  following  generation,  born  in  1808  and  father  of  our 
John  Hooker,  led  the  easy  opulent  life  of  his  forbears.  He 
had  literary  ambitions,  one  of  his  productions  bearing  the 
curious  and  rather  ambiguous  title  of  "Chemical  Changes  in 
the  Eucharist."  Among  other  families  from  which  Mr. 
Hamersley  claimed  descent  or  intimate  connection  were  the 
Hookers  (the  Puritan  Hooker  who  emigrated  with  his  flock 
and  founded  Hartford),  the  Livingstons,  Stuyvesants,  Beek- 
mans,  Van  Cortlands,  and  De  Peysters.  I  had  not  the  heart 
to  tell  him  of  my  own  humble  ancestry  and  family  connections, 
of  the  Smiths,  and  Comstocks,  Benedicts,  Keelers,  Seeleys,  etc. 
I  believe  that  I  did  mention  the  fact  that  my  great-grand- 
mother was  a  Hawley,  and  as  this  name  had  become  of  some 
social  importance  and  accredited  wealth  it  excited  a  little  in- 
terest and  seemed  to  raise  me  a  peg  in  the  estimation  of  my 
good  friend. 

His  peculiar  religious  prejudices  were  very  similar  to  an 
old  medical  acquaintance  of  mine  who,  too,  was  an  ardent 
Low  Churchman,  as  well  as  strong  and  old-fashioned  in  his 
medical  beliefs.  Speaking  of  a  well-known  and  popular  Low- 
Church  clergyman,  who  by  all  the  ties  of  doctrine  he  should 
have  loved,  he  said  that  he  would  on  no  account  attend  his 
ministrations  because  he  was  a  homeopathist.  The  spicy  part 
of  the  Hamersley  name,  however,  is  associated  with  Louis,  a 
cousin  of  James  Hooker,  who  married  a  Miss  Lily  Price  of 
Troy,  N.  Y.  She  was  a  daughter  of  a  Commodore  Price  of 
the  United  States  Navy,  and  as  a  child  lived  nearly  opposite 
the  residence  of  my  wife's  family;  so  as  children  the  two  be- 
came playmates.  After  her  husband's  death,  she  married  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough,  father  of  the  present  Duke,  who  mar- 
ried Miss  Vanderbilt. 

Centenarians  are  so  rare  in  fact  notwithstanding  the  many 
claims  made  for  that  great  age,  that  a  well-authenticated  case 


3o6  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

is  always  notable,  and  especially  if  the  person  is  well  known 
to  one.  Very  recently,  Mrs.  James  B.  Colgate,  widow  of  the 
late  banker  of  that  name,  passed  away  in  her  one  hundred 
and  second  year.  Some  forty  years  ago  I  came  to  know  Mrs. 
Colgate  very  well  through  my  professional  association  with 
Mrs.  Colby,  the  sister  of  her  husband,  James  B.  Colgate. 
Mrs.  Colgate  being  the  sister  of  Mr.  Colby,  there  was  thus 
a  double  relationship.  In  the  winters  the  Colgates  lived  with 
the  Colbys  in  town,  while  in  summer  the  latter  lived  with  the 
former  in  their  fine  mansion  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson. 
The  Colgates  have  always  been  excellent  people,  and  from 
Mrs.  Colby  I  learned  the  facts  of  her  grandfather's  flight 
from  England  to  this  country.  He  was  a  man  of  extremely 
radical  views,  and  so  outspoken  in  his  sympathy  for  America 
and  France  in  their  struggle  for  liberty  that  the  government 
decided  that  he  should  be  suppressed.  His  name  was  one  of 
a  list  of  seven  men  "who  were  to  be  made  an  example  of." 
William  Pitt,  with  whom  he  went  to  school  as  a  boy,  was  his 
friend,  and  sent  a  private  messenger  from  London  warning 
him  of  his  peril  and  urging  him  to  leave  the  country.  Robert 
Colgate  gave  heed,  and  within  two  weeks  set  sail  with  his 
family  for  America. 

In  a  small  way  his  son  began  the  manufacture  of  soap,  and 
to-day  a  great  clock  in  Jersey  City  which  tells  the  voyager  up 
and  down  the  Hudson  the  time  of  day,  marks  the  spot  of 
their  factory,  grown  from  small  beginnings  to  one  of  the 
greatest  business  developments  of  the  country.  William  Col- 
gate, the  father  of  my  patient,  started  the  business  in  1806, 
in  a  two-story  brick  building  in  Dutch  Street,  and  it  is  now 
controlled,  after  a  prosperous  existence  of  one  hundred  and 
ten  years,  by  his  five  grandchildren,  all  brothers  and  sons  of 
Samuel  Colgate,  who  succeeded  his  father.  James  B.  Col- 
gate, the  other  brother  whom  I  have  mentioned,  was  a  banker. 
His  was  a  great  name  in  the  world  of  Baptists,  and  he  was 
fond  of  reminding  others  of  his  liberal  contributions  to  that 
sect  and  to  its  institutions,  notably  Colgate  University. 

Mr.  Robert  Colgate,  another  brother,  I  also  knew  well  in 
a  professional  way.  For  many  years  he  suffered  from  a  form 
of  paralysis  that  rendered  him  quite  helpless,  but  he  was  al- 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  307 

ways  genial  and  considerate,  free  from  vanity,  with  a  most 
pleasing  personality  in  every  way. 

Mr.  James  B.  Colgate's  invariable  order  to  the  waiter  in 
his  restaurant  downtown,  was  "roast  beef  rare  and  gravy 
from  the  dish."  One  day  returning  to  the  Stock  Exchange, 
the  young  brokers  formed  in  a  long  line  behind  him  and  step- 
ping in  unison  roared  out,  "roast  beef  rare  and  gravy  from 
the  dish."  Perhaps  he  took  it  as  an  evidence  of  popularity, 
but  I  imagine  it  was  a  little  bit  of  hazing,  innocently  derisive. 
Some  years  subsequently  Robert  Colgate,  Jr.,  came  to  me, 
and  in  the  course  of  the  treatment  quite  an  incision  in  the 
neck  had  to  be  made.  A  quarter  of  a  century  afterward, 
when  I  went  to  Flushing  to  live,  I  was  told  that  he  resided 
there.  I  had  forgotten  his  face,  but  remembered  the  scar  and 
was  able  to  pick  him  out  in  a  crowd.  He,  too,  like  his  father, 
was  genial  and  kind,  and  always  a  gentleman,  and  my  profes- 
sional association  with  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Colby,  in  her  long  and 
painful  illness,  revealed  a  character  of  patience  and  beautiful 
resignation  seldom  equalled. 

Asa  Packer  was  a  well-known  Pennsylvania  railroad  mag- 
nate a  generation  or  more  ago,  and  one  of  the  comparatively 
few  multi-millionaires  of  that  time.  A  single  professional 
relationship  with  the  family  will  enforce  the  fact  that  it  is 
not  always  worth  while  to  underestimate  the  value  of  your 
own  services,  which  I  must  admit,  has  been  a  rather  foolish 
habit  of  mine.  One  of  that  family  was  in  a  very  serious  con- 
dition, and  her  life  was  in  danger.  Dr.  Marion  Sims,  the 
great  surgeon,  called  me  in  and  by  the  aid  of  an  electrical 
method,  then  new,  the  life  of  the  patient  was  saved.  It  was 
a  case  technically  termed  ectopic  gestation,  which  I  have 
spoken  of  in  fuller  detail  in  another  part  of  these  memoirs. 
The  operation  took  but  little  of  my  time,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  might  reasonably  charge  $500.  It  was  with  some 
hesitation  and  misgiving  that  I  finally  adopted  the  suggestion 
of  my  wife  that  $1,000  was  not  too  much  for  a  multi-million- 
aire to  pay  for  services  that  saved  the  life  of  his  wife,  and  so 
a  bill  of  $1,000  was  sent.  Promptly  I  received  a  check  for 
that  amount,  accompanied  by  words  of  appreciation.  Al- 
though Dr.  Beard  was  no  longer  associated  with  me  in  prac- 


3o8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

tice,  yet  I  frequently  saw  him  and  at  this  time  told  him  of  the 
big  fee  that  I  had  in  mind.  "A  thousand  dollars,  a  thousand 
dollars,  a  thousand  dollars,"  echoed  he  in  his  queer  way,  "if  a 
thousand  dollars,  why  not  twenty-five  hundred."  I  demurred. 
"Come,"  he  said,  "you  charge  $2,500,  and  when  you  get  it 
turn  over  $500  of  it  to  me  for  being  instrumental  in  doubling 
your  money."  "On  one  condition,"  I  replied,  "if  I  do  not  get 
it,  you  are  to  pay  me  the  $500." 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

LIEUTENANT  GENERAL  ADNA  R.   CHAFFEE MAJOR  GENERAL 

WILLIAM  H.  CARTER STEWART  L.  WOODFORD DR.  JOHN 

T.  METCALFE GENERAL  THOMAS  W.  SWEENEY 

IT  is  one  of  my  most  treasured  remembrances  that  for  more 
than  forty  years  I  was  honored  with  the  more  or  less  inti- 
mate friendship  of  the  gallant  soldier  and  true  man,  Gen- 
eral A.  R.  Chaffee,  the  only  man  who  ever  rose  from  the  ranks 
of  the  regular  army  to  its  head.  There  .were  few  quite  like 
him,  and  his  character  and  career  ought  ever  to  be  an  inspira- 
tion especially  to  the  youth  of  our  land.  A  few  years  ago  I  at- 
tended a  regimental  reunion  at  Warren,  Ohio.  Pointing 
across  the  street  to  the  entrance  of  the  court  house,  a  veteran 
said  to  me,  "Through  that  door,  at  the  very  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  War,  I  saw  young  Chaffee  pass  to  enlist  in  the  regular 
army,  where  he  served  from  almost  the  first  battle  to  the  clos- 
ing scene  at  Appomattox." 

General  Chaffee  never  forgot  his  humble  beginning  as  a 
soldier,  and  always  his  sympathies  were  with  the  man  in  the 
ranks.  Though  a  stern  and  strict  disciplinarian,  he  was  no 
martinet.  When  about  to  leave  the  Philippines  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  Department  of  the  East,  he  bade  his  friends 
good-bye  and  turned  to  go.  Suddenly  he  remembered  the 
faithful  sentry  at  the  door.  He  retraced  his  steps,  held  out 
his  hand,  and  said,  "Good-bye,  my  man.  It's  a  long  step  from 
an  enlisted  man  to  Major  General,  but  I  took  it  and  so  may 
you.  Do  your  level  best."  A  little  thing  to  do,  but  under 
the  circumstances,  how  rare,  and  what  an  inspiration  and 
never  forgettable  fact  in  that  enlisted  man's  career. 

But  Chaffee  was  a  rare  man,  and  self-made,  and  it  is  no 
mean  distinction  to  have  arisen  (and  to  be  the  only  man  who 
has  thus  arisen)  from  the  ranks  of  the  regular  army  to  its 
head.  He  always  seemed  to  me  the  personification  of  duty. 
He  stood  through  his  whole  career  for  it.  He  was  a  man  of 
action,  and  scorned  all  underhanded  methods.     He  was  mod- 

309 


310  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

esty  itself,  and  as  brave  as  he  was  modest.  He  was  never 
a  seeker  after  preferment. 

What  he  gained  he  gained  through  worthy  deeds.  At  the 
outset  of  the  Spanish-American  War,  when  he  was  appointed 
Brigadier  General  of  Volunteers,  he  expressed  regret  that  it 
came  before  he  had  earned  it,  failing  to  see  that  he  had  in  real- 
ity earned  it  long  years  before.  He  was  without  envious  feeling. 
When  commander  of  the  Military  Department  of  the  East, 
subsequently  to  his  good  work  in  China  and  the  Philippines, 
I  askd  what  were  his  chances  for  the  lieutenant  generalship. 
His  answer  was  characteristic.     "I  am  not  kicking.     General 

will  probably  get  it.     He  deserves  it."     One  of  his 

brother  officers  once  said  in  my  hearing,  "More  than  any 
other  officer  in  the  United  States  Army,  Chaffee  measures  up 
to  every  duty  he  is  called  upon  to  do." 

I  take  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  for  forty  years  we  have 
corresponded  in  whatever  portion  of  the  globe  he  happened 
to  be.  I  have  just  finished  looking  over  again  many  of  these 
letters.  Among  the  first  is  a  long  one,  written  some  forty 
years  ago,  when  as  captain  or  major  he  was  serving  in  the 
wild  far  West  as  the  Indian  agent  for  the  government.  His 
account  of  that  wild  life  and  the  characteristics  of  the  Indians 
is  most  interesting,  but  what  impressed  me  especially  was  his 
fearless  and  uncompromising  stand  in  opposition  to  the  uni- 
versal and  scandalous  treatment  of  these  defenseless  wards  of 
the  nation. 

Cruelty,  hypocrisy,  insincerity,  undue  self-assertion,  the 
shirking  of  any  duty,  all  these  were  foreign  to  his  nature. 
And  so,  when  at  Peking  he  was  aroused  at  what  he  believed 
unnecessary  slaughter  by  some  of  the  German  contingent,  he 
rode  up  to  the  commanding  officer  and  bluntly  said:  "This  is 
not  war;  it  is  murder." 

A  letter  from  my  cousin,  Captain  Bertrand  Rockwell,  of 
Kansas  City,  and  a  brother-in-law  of  General  Chaffee,  throws 
an  interesting  sidelight  on  the  General's  career.  "Secretary 
Hay's  suggestion  to  Root,"  he  writes,  "to  send  my  brother- 
in-law,  General  Chaffee,  to  China,  was  wise  and  fortunate. 
Hay's  insistence  and  Chaffee's  "My  men  will  move  to-mor- 
row morning  at  daylight  if  we  go  alone,"  undoubtedly  saved 
the  legation  at  Peking.     In  Sir  Robert  Hart's  "These  from 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  311 

the  Land  of  Sinim,"  is  found  the  following:  "If  the  Allied 
forces  had  arrived  on  the  15th,  and  not  on  the  14th,  not  one 
of  the  refugees  would  have  escaped  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
catastrophe,  and  worse  endings  than  imagination  pictures 
might  have  been  theirs."  The  Captain  goes  on  to  say,  "while 
Chaffee  was  on  his  way  to  China,  I  travelled  with  him  from 
Omaha  to  San  Francisco,  and  felt  that  I  would  never  see  him 
again,  as  I  could  not  understand  how  six  thousand  Americans 
and  sixteen  thousand  others  could  successfully  go  against 
four  hundred  million  Chinese,  and  I  asked  what  his  orders 
were.  He  said,  'The  only  orders  I  have  now  is  to  go  after 
Conger,  the  American  ambassador,  and  get  him.  No  doubt 
will  have  more  at  San  Francisco,  and  Nagasaki.'  I  have  a 
letter  from  Secretary  Hay  in  which  he  says  that,  while 
Chaffee's  treatment  of  Waldersee  was  not  diplomatic,  and 
he  had  to  criticise,  he  didn't  condemn,  in  fact  silently  ap- 
proved." 

General  Chaffee  married  my  cousin,  Miss  Annie  Rockwell, 
many  years  ago.  It  is  she  who  tells  me  this  story:  His  first 
wife  lived  but  a  few  years,  during  which  time  she  was  with 
him  at  some  far-distant  frontier  post.  Unlike  the  discipline 
of  later  years,  the  officers  had  little  to  do.  Time  hung 
heavily  on  their  hands,  and  to  pass  dreary  hours  there  was 
much  gambling.  At  a  late  hour  the  Captain,  as  he  was  then, 
came  to  his  quarters  and  found  his  wife  sitting  up  for  him 
and  weeping.  There  was  no  need  to  ask  the  reason  why,  so 
he  threw  into  her  lap  his  winnings  for  the  night,  amounting 
to  $600.00,  and  told  her  to  take  it  and  stop  crying.  In  sur- 
prise she  asked  if  it  was  hers  to  do  with  as  she  pleased,  and 
being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  she  threw  the  whole  amount 
into  the  blazing  fire  where  it  was  promptly  consumed.  From 
that  day  until  his  death  the  Captain  never  again  played  cards 
for  money.  Through  and  through  he  was  an  honor  to  his 
country,  to  his  profession  of  arms,  and  to  our  common  hu- 
manity. As  Colonel  Roosevelt  after  the  Spanish  War  wrote 
of  him — "He  is  a  trump  all  the  way  through." 

On  a  day  in  the  spring  or  summer  of  1868,  a  young  fel- 
low came  into  our  office,  then  located  at  914  Broadway, 
introducing   himself   as    Carter    from   the    State    of   Tennes- 


312  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

see.  He  told  me  that  he  held  an  appointment  to  the 
Military  Academy  at  West  Point,  from  President  Andrew 
Johnson,  but  feared  that  the  condition  of  his  health  might 
prevent  his  being  accepted.  This  greatly  disturbed  him,  and 
contributed  still  further  to  the  gravity  of  the  neurotic  condi- 
tion that  gripped  him.  He  was  an  excellent  example  of  the 
neurasthenic  state  about  which  at  that  time  so  little  was 
known,  but  which  through  the  genius  of  Beard  was  soon  to 
become  a  household  word.  A  course  of  treatment  seemed 
somewhat  to  benefit  him,  but  as  the  day  approached  when  it 
became  necessary  to  present  himself  at  West  Point  for  ex- 
amination, he  grew  increasingly  nervous.  It  so  happened  that 
the  examining  surgeon  at  the  Academy  was  Dr.  E.  J.  Marsh, 
who  had  been  during  the  war,  surgeon-in-chief  of  my  division. 
We  were  good  friends,  and  armed  with  a  letter  from  me  to 
Marsh,  young  Carter  made  his  way,  tremblingly  I  imagine, 
towards  the  goal  of  his  hopes  and  fears.  In  this  letter,  I  made 
out  as  strong  a  case  for  my  patient  as  possible,  asserting  that 
the  disease  was  absolutely  functional,  and  that  time  and  care 
only  were  needed  to  restore  him  to  complete  health.  To  what 
degree  my  strong  words  were  of  avail  I  never  knew,  but  the 
young  man  was  admitted,  and  for  years  I  neither  saw  nor 
heard  about  him. 

During  the  Spanish-American  War  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Chaffee, 
the  wife  of  the  General,  then  in  Cuba,  was  a  guest  at  our  home 
in  Flushing.  One  morning  she  received  a  letter  from  a  Colonel 
Carter,  at  that  time  Assistant  Adjutant  General  at  Washington. 
I  told  my  cousin  of  my  relationship  with  the  boy  Carter  in 
years  gone  by,  and  wondered  if  the  two  could  be  the  same. 
In  a  subsequent  letter  to  Mrs.  Chaffee,  he  acknowledged  the 
identity  and  was  good  enough  to  say  that  he  "was  so  glad  that 
her  Dr.  Rockwell  was  his  Dr.  Rockwell."  Possibly  he  would 
have  passed  the  medical  examination  without  my  aid,  but  I 
like  to  think  that  my  letter  had  some  weight,  and  that  in  a 
measure  it  was  due  to  me  that  the  country  for  so  many  years 
was  served  by  a  soldier  so  distinguished  and  worthy. 

For  distinguished  bravery  in  battle  with  the  Apache  Indians, 
General  Carter  received  the  medal  of  honor  August  30,  1881. 
Unlike  most  soldiers  he  has  also  achieved  distinction  as  an 
author,  and  although  now  retired  from  active  service,  he  still 
continues  his  interesting  and  instructive  contributions  to  such 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  313 

periodicals  as  the  North  American  Review  and  others  on 
subjects  connected  with  his  profession.  He  commanded  our 
troops  assembled  on  the  Mexican  border  some  years  ago,  and, 
although  "retired,"  recently  resumed  important  military  func- 
tions in  the  late  days  of  national  peril. 

He  and  Chaffee  were  warm  friends,  and  he  has  recently 
written  and  published  the  biography  of  that  fine  soldier. 

It  was  during  the  summer  of  1856  that  I  first  heard  Stewart 
L.  Woodford  speak,  followed  by  a  friendship  these  many 
years.  The  Academy  of  Music,  corner  of  Fourteenth  Street 
and  Irving  Place,  had  been  but  recently  completed  and  was  the 
pride  of  the  town.  It  stood  on  its  outskirts  and  doubtless 
there  were  those  who  thought  it  absurd  to  build  such  a  fine 
structure  so  far  away.  It  was  the  famous  campaign  year  of 
Fremont  and  Buchanan,  and  there  was  a  great  Republican 
gathering  at  the  new  Academy.  The  building  was  crowded, 
and  I  had  a  fine  seat.  The  enthusiasm  was  intense,  and  after 
several  speakers  had  been  heard,  the  crowd  began  to  call 
loudly  for  a  famous  lawyer  named  Chauncy  Shaffer.  The 
chairman  came  to  the  front  when  quiet  had  been  restored,  said 
that  he  would  introduce  to  them  a  young  man  who  had  done 
good  work  in  the  campaign,  and  then  introduced  Woodford. 
A  young  man  came  forward  who  seemed  to  me  to  be  not  more 
than  eighteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  although  he  was  twenty- 
two.  He  was  pale  and  evidently  frightened,  and  I  remember 
well  the  opening  lines  of  his  ten-minute  speech.  He  began, 
"When  I  was  a  little  child,  I  loved  to  sit  upon  my  mother's 
knee  and  lay  my  head  against  her  heart,  and  feel  its  beatings, 
telling  so  truly  of  love  and  affection  for  me.  So,  too,  in  my 
early  manhood  I  loved  to  lay  my  head  against  the  people's 
hearts,  etc."  It  was  but  a  boyish  speech,  but  because  of  his 
youth  and  a  certain  eloquence  his  remarks  were  well  received 
and  he  retired  amid  a  storm  of  applause.  Later  in  the  cam- 
paign he  spoke  in  New  Canaan  and  stayed  at  my  father's 
house  all  night.  I  told  him  I  had  heard  his  speech  at  the 
academy  a  few  months  earlier.  He  was  interested  and  said 
that,  when  he  saw  the  great  audience,  he  was  terrified  and 
begged  to  be  let  off.  When  he  advanced  to  make  his  speech 
he  was  dazed  and  everything  seemed  in  a  whirl.  To  use  his 
own   expression,   his   pants   seemed  too   large    for   his   legs, 


3i4  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

"And,"  said  he,  "if  I  had  not  known  my  speech  as  well  as  I 
know  the  Lord's  Prayer,  I  should  have  failed  utterly."  Wood- 
ford's subsequent  career  was  a  notable  and  honorable  one. 
In  the  war  he  reached  the  grade  of  brigadier  general.  If  not 
a  great  lawyer,  he  ranked  well  and  became  lieutenant  gov- 
ernor of  the  State  of  New  York.  It  was  thought  at  one  time 
that  he  would  be  put  on  the  ticket  with  Garfield  for  vice- 
president,  but  Arthur  was  chosen,  and  so  he  narrowly  escaped 
being  President.  He  was  a  good  man  but  perhaps  of  hardly 
heavy  enough  timber  for  the  position  of  chief  executive.  Sub- 
sequently, he  became  ambassador  to  Spain  at  the  outbreak 
of  the  Spanish-American  War.  He  was  afterwards  elected 
commander  of  the  Loyal  Legion  of  the  State  of  New  York, 
but  because  of  ill  health  he  never  presided.  He  died  a  few 
months  after  his  election. 

I  should  indeed  be  wanting  in  a  proper  sense  of  proportion 
and  affectionate  gratitude  if  I  failed  to  mention  the  name  of 
Dr.  John  T.  Metcalfe,  at  one  time  not  only  patient,  but  friend 
and  benefactor.  He  was  one  of  the  princes  of  his  profession, 
as  truly  so  as  Phillips  Brooks  was  of  his.  Those  well-known 
physicians,  T.  Gaillard  Thomas  and  William  M.  Polk,  be- 
gan their  long  careers  of  distinguished  professional  service  in 
his  office,  and  ever  held  him  in  affectionate  and  reverent  re- 
gard. He  held  for  many  years  the  chair  of  clinical  medi- 
cine in  the  College  of  Physicians  and  Surgeons,  and  his  clien- 
tele included  much  of  the  highest  intelligence,  fashion  and 
wealth  of  the  metropolis.  Dr.  Metcalfe  was  a  West  Pointer, 
and  though  I  can  hardly  say  why,  he  seemed  to  remind  me,  in 
the  essentials  of  his  character,  of  that  other  great  Southerner, 
Robert  E.  Lee.  He  was  kindness  and  sympathy  itself,  and  he 
never  seemed  happier  and  more  in  his  element  than  when  he 
could  be  of  service  to  a  fellow  creature,  and  especially  to 
some  struggling  young  man  of  his  own  profession.  Dr.  Met- 
calfe was  one  of  the  first  to  take  any  sort  of  interest  in  the 
work  that  Dr.  Beard  and  I  were  attempting  to  do,  and  at  one 
time,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  helping  hand,  our  road  would 
have  been  discouraging  indeed.  He  believed  in  our  sincerity, 
appreciated  the  reasonableness  of  our  contentions,  and,  see- 
ing the  good  results  that  followed  the  practical  application  of 
our  theory,  sent  us  many  patients,  among  the  first  of  whom 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  315 

was  Colonel  Theodore  Roosevelt,  then  by  no  means  a  robust 
boy  of  twelve  years.  Doctor  Metcalfe  was  a  fine  example  of 
high-bred  courtesy,  but  yet  so  great  was  his  hatred  of  all 
sham,  that  he  could  be  severe.  To  a  professional  bore  whose 
reputation  had  preceded  him,  and  before  the  unwelcome  visi- 
tor had  fairly  launched  his  shaft,  Dr.  Metcalfe,  quickly  rising, 
said:  "Excuse  me,  Doctor,  I  have  something  which  I  have 
long  wanted  to  show  you.  It  is  the  door."  One  of  the  last 
notes  ever  received  from  him  was  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
receipt  of  a  copy  of  the  sixth  edition  of  "The  Medical  and 
Surgical  Uses  of  Electricity,"  which  we  were  privileged  to 
dedicate  to  him.  He  wrote  in  his  characteristic  fashion:  "My 
dear  Rockwell: — You  have  always  been  too  good  to  me, 
and  as  you  grow  older  you  don't  seem  to  get  any  better.  Let 
me  thank  you  most  heartily  for  the  honor  done  my  poor  name 
in  placing  it  so  conspicuously  to  the  fore  in  your  excellent 
book.  Need  I  say  how  much  pleasure  I  have  in  contrasting 
your  present  eminence  with  that  painful  life  of  hard  struggle 
in  which  you  were  engaged  when  I  first  knew  you.  As  ever, 
faithfully  and  sincerely  yours,  John  T.  Metcalfe." 

The  struggle  of  which  he  speaks  he  did  not  know  of  at 
the  time.  It  was  only  afterwards  that  I  alluded  to  it,  to  his 
manifest  surprise. 

One  summer's  day  a  few  years  after  the  close  of  the  Civil 
War,  while  driving  along  the  country  roads  around  New 
Canaan  with  Captain  Chaffee — later  Lieutenant  General 
Chaffee  and  Chief  of  Staff — we  overtook  a  one-armed  pedes- 
trian. I  knew  him  to  be  General  Thomas  W.  Sweeny,  and 
halting,  I  introduced  myself  and  the  Captain.  I  felt  sure  that, 
as  old  soldiers,  they  would  be  glad  to  meet  each  other,  both 
having  served  throughout  the  Civil  War,  and  Sweeny  also  in 
the  Mexican  War,  where  he  lost  one  arm.  Subsequently,  Gen- 
eral Sweeny  consulted  me  professionally,  and  I  got  to  know 
him  rather  intimately,  when  he  told  me  something  of  his  varied 
and  interesting  experiences  in  the  Mexican  and  Civil  Wars, 
and  earlier  still,  among  the  Indians.  General  Sweeny  was  an 
exceptionally  modest  man,  and  seldom  spoke  of  his  experiences 
voluntarily.  It  was  only  by  questioning  that  I  became  fairly 
well  acquainted  with  his  career,  and  so  I  am  able  to  tell  a  thing 


316  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

or  two  concerning  him  that  will  not  be  found  in  the  sketch  of 
his  life  in  the  "National  Cyclopedia  of  Biography." 

Under  General  Sherman  he  commanded  a  division  in  the 
corps  of  General  Grenville  M.  Dodge  and  in  one  of  our  con- 
versations he  told  me  something  about  the  battle  of  Atlanta, 
in  which  his  division  took  a  prominent  part.  I  then  remarked : 
"General  Sweeny,  I  do  not  see  your  name  in  connection  with 
the  March  to  the  Sea  following  the  battle  of  Atlanta."  "No," 
he  replied,  "after  this  fight  I  was  deprived  of  my  command 
and  placed  under  arrest.  About  noon  on  the  day  of  this 
battle,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "my  command  had  halted,  and  the 
men  were  getting  their  coffee,  when  the  sound  of  furious  fight- 
ing in  the  distance  determined  me  to  take  advantage  of  a 
commanding  officer's  discretionary  powers  in  an  emergency, 
and  without  orders  I  hastened  with  my  division  to  the  firing 
line." 

He  was  sorely  needed  and  the  division  did  effective  service 
in  repulsing  the  attack,  besides  capturing  four  battle  flags  and 
nine  hundred  prisoners.  General  Frank  P.  Blair  congratu- 
lated Sweeny  on  his  timely  arrival,  and  said  that  his  services 
would  not  be  forgotten.  It  seems  that  there  was  a  lack  of 
cordial  relations  between  Sweeny  and  General  Dodge,  his 
corps  commander.  At  General  Dodge's  headquarters  the  next 
day  an  altercation  occurred  between  the  two  generals  relat- 
ing to  the  battle  just  fought.  The  lie  passed  between  them, 
followed  by  the  military  enormity  of  the  subordinate  striking 
his  superior.  Sweeny  was  placed  under  arrest,  but  appealed 
to  General  Sherman  to  be  allowed  to  go  with  his  command 
to  the  sea.  Sherman  consoled  him  with  the  assurance  that  all 
the  hard  fighting  had  been  done  and  the  march  through 
Georgia  would  be  an  easy  affair. 

Confirmatory  of  this  encounter  with  his  commanding  gen- 
eral, Sweeny  referred  to  a  letter  of  General  Sherman's  in  the 
official  record  in  which,  naming  General  Sweeny,  Sherman 
said:  "He  hoped  no  injustice  would  be  done  to  so  brave  and 
deserving  an  officer." 

In  1866  Sweeny  took  part,  if  he  did  not  command,  in  the 
Fenian  invasion  of  Canada — a  quixotic  scheme.  For  this  he 
was  disciplined  by  our  government,  but  later,  in  view  of  his 
patriotic  services,  he  was  restored  to  his  former  rank  in  the 
regular  army. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

JOSEPH     COOK REV.     WILLIAM     H.     H.     MURRAY GOVERNOR 

DANIEL   HENRY  CHAMBERLAIN MARC  KLAW CAPTAIN 

FREDERICK    HOBART 

THE  first  three  of  these  notable  and  somewhat  famous 
men  in  their  day  were  all  classmates  and  friends  of  my 
partner  Dr.  Beard,  at  Yale  College,  and  came  occa- 
sionally to  our  office  either  on  friendly  visits  or  for  profes- 
sional advice.  Joseph  Cook  was  a  singularly  interesting  char- 
acter. Websterian  in  physique,  and  with  a  majestic  delivery, 
he  captured  his  audiences  always,  and  for  some  years  he  held 
sway  in  Boston  as  its  most  popular  lecturer.  His  Boston 
Monday  Lectures  in  1873  and  '74  drew  crowded  audiences  at 
Tremont  Temple.  They  were  devoted  mostly  to  the  subjects 
of  religion,  science,  and  current  reforms,  and,  as  he  attempted 
to  harmonize  modern  science  with  the  teachings  of  the  Bible, 
he  was  regarded  with  much  favor  by  all  the  churches,  with- 
out regard  to  denomination. 

In  1880,  he  was  invited  to  make  a  lecturing  tour  of  the 
world,  and  was  greeted  by  immense  audiences  everywhere. 
Two  of  his  most  popular  lectures,  as  I  seem  to  remember, 
were:  "Does  Death  End  All?"  and  "Certainties  in  Religion." 
He  wrote  many  books  in  the  line  of  his  work,  and  the  one 
on  biology  was  revised  and  corrected  by  Dr.  Beard. 

I  recall  my  first  meeting  with  Joseph  Cook,  as  he  was  walk- 
ing along  the  street  with  Dr.  Beard.  He  was  at  the  full  flood 
of  his  popularity,  and  I  was  quite  overwhelmed  with  the  cor- 
dial grandeur  of  his  greeting.  He  spoke  of  our  professional 
work,  and  in  his  explosive  manner  said:  "I  am  proud  of  you, 
sir — proud  of  you  both."  After  a  few  moments'  conversa- 
tion I  passed  on,  but  in  a  moment  he  turned  and  called  out  in 
stentorian  tones :  "If  you  find  out  anything  new  in  physiology, 
let  me  know,  will  you?" 

Cook  was  born  near  Lake  George,  and  had  a  pleasant  coun- 
try place  in  that  region.  I  called  upon  him  one  day  while 
spending  a  little  time  in  the  neighborhood,  and  was  welcomed 

3i7 


3i 8  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

in  his  characteristic,  cordial  manner.  When  about  to  leave  I 
said  to  him:  "Are  you  aware,  Mr.  Cook,  that  you  have  been 
mistaken  for  Mark  Twain?"  "Why  no,"  he  replied  with  a 
somewhat  surprised  expression  of  countenance. 

"The  story  is,"  I  said,  "that  an  honest  farmer  went  to  Bos- 
ton to  hear  Mark  Twain,  but  instead  found  himself  in  the 
Old  South  Church,  and  listened  to  one  of  your  fine  discourses 
of  high  import.  He  did  not  discover  his  mistake,  but  went 
home  meditating  perhaps  on  the  qualities  of  humor.  On 
reaching  his  home,  his  family  inquired  with  much  interest  if 
he  had  heard  Mark  Twain.  He  admitted  that  he  had  heard 
him.  "And  was  he  funny?"  he  was  asked.  "Yes,"  said  the 
farmer,  slowly  and  somewhat  doubtfully,  "he  was  funny;" 
and  then  with  a  little  more  animation,  "but  he  weren't  so  darn 
funny." 

Joseph  Cook  had  some  of  the  elements  of  greatness.  He 
was  an  orator,  an  omnivorous  reader,  and  was  primed  with 
a  thousand  facts  and  quotations  which  he  could  at  will  call 
up  to  confront  the  superficial  objector.  His  assurance,  too, 
re-enforced  by  his  impressive  voice,  figure,  and  manner,  was 
overwhelming. 

During  one  of  his  lectures,  someone  disputed  him  and  a 
few  words  were  exchanged — "Have  you,"  said  Mr.  Cook, 
"read  so  and  so,  and  so  and  so?"  naming  a  number  of  for- 
eign savants,  mostly  Germans.  His  antagonist  admitted  that 
he  had  not.  "Then  go  home  and  read  them,  and  when  you 
have  done  so  I  will  talk  with  you." 

But  Joseph  Cook,  it  must  be  admitted,  was  not  only  more 
or  less  superficial,  but  he  was  also  in  every  sense  a  special 
pleader,  and  no  special  pleader,  along  scientific  lines  at  least, 
can  achieve  lasting  fame.  He  contributed  little  to  the  world's 
equipment,  and  although  he  would  not  admit  it  and  probably 
did  not  think  it,  he  was  not  so  much  seeking  pure  truth  as  he 
was  earnest  in  his  search  for  arguments — to  prove  the  infal- 
libility of  the  creed  in  which  he  had  been  reared. 

Rev.  William  H.  H.  Murray,  popularly  known  as  "Adiron- 
dack Murray"  because  of  his  early  adventures  in  that  region 
and  the  books  he  wrote  about  it,  was  as  interesting  as  his 
classmate,  Cook.    When  pastor  of  a  Congregational  church  in 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  319 

Meriden,  Conn.,  he  regularly  mailed  to  our  office  every  Mon- 
day morning,  the  local  paper  containing  the  full  report  of 
his  sermon  of  the  preceding  day.  These  sermons  abounded  in 
startling  and  sensational  surprises,  which  kept  his  hearers  in 
an  eager  state  of  expectancy.  The  late  Senator  O.  H.  Piatt, 
of  Connecticut,  was  a  member  of  his  congregation,  and  an 
admirer  and  intimate  friend  of  Murray.  These  two  were  not 
at  all  conventional,  and  moreover,  were  very  fond  of  fishing. 
I  have  it  upon  the  authority  of  one  of  the  congregation  that, 
during  the  singing  of  the  hymn  before  the  sermon,  the 
preacher  would  beckon  to  his  deacon,  and  on  the  steps  of  the 
pulpit  they  would  quietly  arrange  for  their  fishing  trip  the 
following  day.  In  the  early  seventies  he  became  pastor  of  the 
Park  Street  Church,  Boston,  where  for  a  time  he  held  large 
audiences,  and  later  his  Sunday  evening  talks  in  Boston  Music 
Hall  were  very  popular.  His  books,  "Adventures  in  the  Wil- 
derness," and  "Adirondack  Tales,"  in  which  he  introduced  a 
character  copied  after  the  Leather  Stocking  of  Cooper's  stor- 
ies, enjoyed  an  ephemeral  popularity.  Murray  had  gifts  and 
graces,  and  high  ambitions.  He  aimed  to  become  a  second 
Beecher,  and  he  stood  not  alone  in  that  futile  aim.  He,  in- 
deed, succeeded  in  his  amibition  to  preach  from  Beecher's  pul- 
pit. He  finally  left  the  ministry  and  engaged  in  business,  but 
with  little  success,  and  died  many  years  ago. 

Daniel  Henry  Chamberlain,  once  governor  of  South 
Carolina,  must  not  be  confounded  with  that  other  famous 
Governor  of  Maine,  Major  General  Joshua  L.  Chamberlain, 
whom  Grant  in  his  "Memoirs"  tells  of  promoting  on  the  field 
for  gallantry,  and  asking  the  War  Department  to  confirm 
the  act  without  delay. 

Nevertheless,  the  Governor  Chamberlain  of  whom  I  now 
write  was  a  notable  man  in  his  day  and  was  endowed  with 
abilities  of  a  very  high  order.  His  gifts  and  graces  un- 
doubtedly would  have  given  him  a  more  lasting  fame  if  it  had 
not  been  for  his  unfortunate  association  with  the  so-called  car- 
pet-bag regime  in  the  South  after  the  Civil  War,  and  the  sor- 
rows and  failing  health  that  came  to  him  later.  During  the 
last  two  years  of  the  war,  he  saw  active  service,  with  the  rank 
of   captain.      Subsequently,    he   became    a    cotton   planter   in 


320  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

South  Carolina.  Later  he  entered  politics  and  was  succes- 
sively elected  attorney  general  and  governor  of  the  state. 
In  these  positions  he  dominated  the  reorganization  of  a  state 
ruined  by  the  war,  and  he  did  his  work  honestly  and  well.  It 
was  his  misfortune  to  be  among  the  carpet-bag  governors, 
but  he  was  the  exception,  and  for  this  he  incurred  the  bitter 
hostility  of  the  whole  gang  of  plunderers.  The  Democrats 
themselves  wished  to  renominate  him,  but,  for  reasons  of  na- 
tional politics,  hesitated  to  do  so. 

The  famous  Confederate  General  Wade  Hampton  was  his 
opponent  in  his  second  campaign  for  governor,  and  disputed 
his  election.  Both  went  to  Washington  to  consult  with  Presi- 
dent Hayes,  with  the  result  that  Chamberlain  gave  way  to 
Hampton,  and  came  to  New  York  to  take  up  the  practice  of 
law. 

It  was  then,  in  his  visits  to  our  office,  that  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Governor  Chamberlain,  and  I  remember  him  as 
a  man  of  quiet  dignity  and  unusual  charm  of  manner.  He  was 
an  orator,  and  I  recall  that,  as  Dr.  Beard  at  Yale  was 
awarded  the  Townsend  prize  for  English  composition,  so 
Chamberlain  won  the  De  Forest  Medal  for  excellence  in  ora- 
tory. In  referring  on  one  occasion  to  these  fine  records,  it 
was  brought  out  that,  while  Chamberlain  was  also  fourth  in 
standing  in  his  class,  his  brother,  Leander,  had  even  a  higher 
record,  as  he  was  not  only  awarded  the  De  Forest  Medal,  but 
was  also  first  in  his  class. 

In  his  youth  Chamberlain  showed  an  extraordinary  matur- 
ity and  power  of  study,  and  in  oratory  endeavored  to  follow 
the  method  of  Wendell  Phillips,  whom  he  claimed  to  have 
heard  more  than  fifty  times. 

In  college  he  was  regarded  as  the  ablest  politician. 
President  Woolsey  called  him  a  born  leader  of  men,  and 
Secretary  Fairchild  said  he  was  the  ablest  man  of  his  time  at 
the  Harvard  Law  School.  Whether  excessive  or  not,  such 
praise  from  such  men  indicated  a  high  degree  of  merit.  The 
things  that  he  did  are  mostly  forgotten  now,  but  one  cannot 
well  forget  his  fierce  and  effective  attack  upon  W.  T.  Jerome 
for  not  prosecuting  the  Life  Insurance  Directors  in  New  York 
for  abuse  of  their  trusts.  He  was  literally  dying  when  he 
launched  this  philippic,  with  hardly  strength  to  write. 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  321 

Chamberlain  took  a  high  rank  at  the  New  York  bar,  and 
was  engaged  in  many  important  cases.  He  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  lose  his  wife  and  four  children,  and  then  his  health, 
for  the  restoration  of  which  he  vainly  sought  change  in  travel. 
He  died  in  1907. 

In  the  year  1888  there  moved  into  a  residence  opposite 
mine,  at  11 6th  Street  and  Manhattan  Avenue,  a  bearded 
young  man  with  a  wife  and  two  attractive  children  (boys). 
I  used  to  see  the  wife  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  drive 
out  with  the  two  children  in  a  little  hickory  buckboard  with 
one  horse,  and  come  back  in  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a  half 
later  with  her  husband  in  the  party.  I  soon  learned,  as  I  was 
called  in  professionally  to  see  this  little  family,  that  the  hus- 
band was  none  other  than  Mr.  Marc  Klaw,  senior  member  of 
the  prominent  theatrical  firm  of  Klaw  &  Erlanger.  It  might 
be  interesting  to  the  public  to  know,  for  they  have  vague  ideas 
about  the  domestic  relations  of  theatrical  people,  that  Mr. 
Klaw  and  his  family  were  together  at  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  night  when  his  business  rendered  it  practicable.  His  wife, 
by  the  way,  though  a  very  brilliant  musician,  was  not  profes- 
sional and  had  never  been  on  the  stage.  She  had  a  beautiful 
mezzo-soprano  voice  which  was  used  for  the  exclusive  enter- 
tainment of  her  family  and  church  singing.  These  were  the 
struggling  days  of  Mr.  Klaw,  and,  as  he  expressed  it  then  and 
has  since,  the  most  interesting  of  his  career.  He  has  since 
told  me  that  the  exhilaration  of  the  climb  is  the  real  joy  of 
the  whole  thing;  or  as  he  put  it,  "When  you  get  to  the  heights 
you  usually  find  nothing  but  barren  rocks  and  snow." 

Mr.  Klaw  moved  into  the  country  a  few  years  later  with 
his  little  family,  as  his  wife  was  failing  in  health;  and  the 
tragedy  of  his  life  was  the  loss  of  this  estimable  woman  from 
tuberculosis  a  few  years  later.  He  gave  several  years  of  his 
time  after  her  death  to  finish  the  early  education  of  his  boys, 
and  never  married  again. 

Mr.  Klaw  is  one  of  the  most  modest  of  men,  and  if  his 
name  is  a  household  word  in  connection  with  the  drama,  he 
cannot  very  well  help  it.  He  is  a  good  talker,  and  a  good 
listener,  and  this  latter  all  too  rare  accomplishment  accounts 
in  some  measure  for  his  keen  insight  into  human  nature,  and 


322  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

his  ability  to  gauge  professional  capabilities  quickly  and  ac- 
curately. 

Captain  Frederick  Hobart,  whom  it  was  my  privilege  to  see 
many  times,  during  his  long,  painful,  fatal  illness,  illustrated 
in  his  character  a  combination  of  modesty  and  merit  to  a  de- 
gree rarely  equaled.  He  was  not  a  man  of  great  distinction, 
according  to  the  world's  gauge,  although  highly  educated  and 
of  wide  and  solid  information.  He  was  one  of  those  silent 
men,  silently  working,  whose  name  never  appears  in  the  morn- 
ing newspapers.  But  when  he  spoke  he  spoke  sense.  He  was 
therefore  the  salt  of  the  earth,  and  I  take  great  pleasure  in 
concluding  these  simple  sketches  with  this  reference  to  a  man 
of  such  sterling  worth.  Here  was  a  man  whom  all  his  friends 
and  daily  associates  addressed  as  Mr.  Hobart.  Few  of  these 
were  aware  that  he  had  served  throughout  the  whole  course 
of  the  Civil  War,  attaining  the  rank  of  Captain  while  still 
a  mere  lad,  and  fewer  still  that  he  had  been  four  times 
wounded  on  four  different  fields  of  battle.  He  never  volun- 
tarily spoke  of  these  evidences  of  his  heroic  service.  "Cap- 
tain," I  said  to  him  one  day,  "were  you  ever  wounded?" 
"Why  yes,"  he  slowly  replied,  "I  had  rather  an  interesting 
experience  on  one  occasion."  "What  was  it?"  "A  bullet 
evidently  fired  by  a  sharpshooter,  struck  me  in  the  chest,  but 
some  papers  in  my  pocket,  together  with  an  unusual  weight 
of  clothing,  saved  me  from  more  than  a  superficial  flesh 
wound."  He  offered  no  further  information,  but  on  being 
interrogated,  admitted  that  he  had  had  another  experience. 
In  a  second  engagement,  a  bullet  passed  through  his  thigh. 
Again  he  offered  no  further  information,  but  on  inquiry  I 
found  that  he  had  received  a  third  and  more  serious  wound. 
This  time  the  bullet  ploughed  its  way  through  the  whole  length 
of  the  thigh,  from  the  effects  of  which  wound  he  did  not  re- 
cover for  many  months.  "I  carried  the  bullet  for  seven  years 
before  it  was  extracted,"  he  said.  Further  inquiry  elicited  the 
fact  that  there  was  still  a  fourth  wound  to  be  accounted  for, 
which  the  Captain  acknowledged  with  his  gentle  smile.  In 
another  engagement  he  was  struck  in  the  head  and  rendered  un- 
conscious, but  through  one  of  those  strange  freaks  of  fortune, 
instead  of  piercing  the  brain,  the  bullet  was  deflected  under 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  323 

the  scalp,  coming  out  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  head.  It  will 
be  observed  that  in  drawing  from  the  Captain  these  interest- 
ing experiences  by  a  pumping  process,  he  began  with  the  most 
trivial  injury,  where,  if  left  to  himself,  the  recital  would  have 
ended.  With  the  same  calm  and  modest  courage  with  which 
he  had  faced  death  in  a  score  of  battles  he  uncomplainingly  and 
even  with  a  measure  of  cheerfulness  endured  the  pains  of  a 
lingering  illness.  He  was  truly  a  remarkable  man.  One  may 
well  wish  to  have  known  him  better. 


EPILOGUE 

ON  the  anniversary  of  his  eightieth  birthday,  the 
poet  Whittier  received  a  letter  of  congratulation 
from  the  poet  Holmes,  with  the  inquiry  as  to  what 
the  outlook  was  from  that  serene  height. 

Whittier  replied  that  the  outlook  was  good,  and 
urged  Holmes  to  hurry  up  and  get  there,  since  thenceforth 
there  was  no  more  hill-climbing,  but  all  was  down  grade  to 
the  river. 

As  only  a  few  months  separate  me  from  that  height  of  four- 
score years  which  so  few  live  to  reach,  I  am  constrained  to 
say  that  my  own  view  and  experience  accord  with  Whittier's. 
The  years  that  have  passed  since  my  retirement  from  the 
more  active  duties  of  my  profession  have  been  among  the 
fullest  and  most  satisfying  of  my  career.  Time  has  been  mine 
to  review  and  to  correct  many  impressions  of  men  and  affairs. 
I  have  been  able  to  follow  a  better  philosophy  of  living, 
"like  a  star  unhasting,  yet  unresting." 

I  recognize  the  fact  that  more  than  ever  it  is  the  day  of 
young  men.  The  old  clergyman  is  not  very  much  wanted, 
neither  is  the  old  doctor;  and  so  it  comforts  me  to  recall  the 
reply  of  the  ancient  warrior  to  the  boasting  young  brave,  that 
"the  seventies  have  all  the  twenties  and  forties  in  them." 

And  yet  age  is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  years  as  it  is  a  mat- 
ter of  condition  of  mind  or  body,  or  both.  The  disadvantages 
of  growing  old  are  many  and  varied,  but  who  cares  to  enu- 
merate them?  Youth  and  childhood  have  their  disadvantages, 
too,  and  I  firmly  believe  that  in  many  ways  the  child,  the  youth 
and  the  mature  man  suffer  more  than  do  those  who  have 
crossed  the  indefinable  border  that  places  them  on  the  side 
where  the  aged  dwell.  It  is  indeed  a  privilege  to  grow  old  and 
it  is  quite  worth  while.  Only  through  the  experiences  of  the 
years  can  one  gain  a  correct  idea  of  perspective,  or  a  proper 
sense  of  proportion.  Youth  cannot  understand  age.  Youth 
cannot  even  understand  .  .  .  Youth !  Those  expressive 
lines  from  "Sartor  Resartus"  come  to  me: 

"Happy  season  of  childhood  .  .  .  the  young  spirit  has 
awakened  out  of  eternity,  and  knows  not  what  we  mean  by 

324 


PERSONAL  SKETCHES  325 

Time;  as  yet  Time  is  no  fast-hurrying  stream,  but  a  sportful 
sunlit  ocean;  years  to  the  child  are  as  ages  .  .  .  Sleep  on, 
thou  fair  child,  for  thy  long  rough  journey  is  at  hand." 

And  yet  who  can  weigh  the  seeming  trials  of  childhood, 
through  groundless  fears  and  erroneous  estimation  of  values. 
Although  transient,  these  keen  fears  are  harder  because  there 
are  so  few  who  can  sympathize  with  the  woes  of  a  child,  and 
fewer  still  to  whom  a  child  will  confide  its  troubles;  for  a 
child  is  strangely  reticent! 

Age  is  less  troubled  with  what  it  has  not.  A  serene  old  age 
not  only  has  its  future,  but  its  past  as  a  precious  possession, 
which  youth  knows  not  of,  or,  if  knowing,  appreciates  not. 

To  survey  the  past  without  too  much  regret  and  with  no 
bitterness  at  all,  and  with  all  the  hurts  and  disappointments 
softened  by  time — to  put  one's  house  in  order,  and  to  look 
forward  confidently,  and  unafraid,  and  to  feel  that  you  love 
and  are  loved;  to  know  that  some  of  the  things  that  used  to 
seem  so  vitally  important  are  of  little  or  no  importance,  and 
that  the  little  things  are  the  big  things  after  all — these  are  the 
blessed  privileges  granted  only  to  the  old. 

To  me  each  year  brings  a  fresh  fruition,  a  better  under- 
standing, a  broader  sympathy,  and  a  deeper  appreciation.  A 
tranquillity  has  come  into  my  life  and  a  new  enjoyment  of 
Truth  and  Beauty.  Surely  these  are  the  things  of  worth,  and 
call  for  the  deepest  gratitude.  One  hardly  needs  heaven  when 
one  already  has  so  much. 

And  so  long  as  the  advancing  years  do  not  make  one  a  bur- 
den to  others  and  to  one's  self — the  culminating  and  supreme 
sadness  that  can  come  to  the  aged — one  can  linger  on  in  happi- 
ness. We  may  gain  heaven  by  grace  and  by  the  mercy  of 
God,  but  one  cannot  gain  love  except  by  deserving  it,  and  love 
is  indeed  the  crown  of  old  age. 

And  now  I  must  bring  these  recollections  to  a  close.  I  must 
not  ramble  on  forever.  Yet,  as  I  sit  here  before  the  fireplace, 
faces  glow  kindly  in  the  embers  and  many  incidents  come 
back  to  my  memory  from  the  long  ago,  all  unmentioned  in 
these  pages.  How  hastily  I  have  written !  How  much  more 
interesting  I  would  make  it  if  I  could  write  it  all  over  again 
...  of  course !  Every  period  of  retrospection  will  bring 
back  people,  places,  occurrences  that  merit  a  special  place  in 


326  RAMBLING  RECOLLECTIONS 

these  memoirs.  However,  no  matter  how  carefully  or  how 
often  re-written,  I  should  always  see  reason  for  wishing  it 
could  be  gone  over  yet  once  more,  for  perfection  is  difficult, 
elusive,  impossible. 

And  so,  my  reader,  forgive  me  for  not  saying  all  that  could 
have  been  said,  and  for  not  saying  better  what  has  been  said. 
We  are  friends  .  .  .  old  friends,  let  us  say,  proved  and  im- 
proved by  time  .  .  .  and  we  have  been  sitting  by  the  fire- 
side together,  with  tobacco  if  you  like,  and  even  something 
more,  if  the  law  and  the  conscience  permitted.  And  so,  as 
good  old  friends,  we  have  had  this  chat  about  the  folks  we 
used  to  know.  Surely  the  most  critical  can  be  kind  in  their 
judgment  of  a  friendly  fireside  talk  like  this.  But  now  my 
pipe  is  out,  the  glass  is  empty.  The  time  has  really  come  to 
say  good-night.  Let  me  grasp  your  hand  and  press  it  heartily 
as  I  leave  you  with  the  wish  expressed  in  the  poet's  words, 
"Life  is  a  dream.    Dream  long  and  sweetly!" 


INDEX 


Adelbert  College,  112 

Adler,  Felix,  289 

Agnew,   Dr.  Cornelius  R.,  217 

Albro,   Josh,  49 

Allen,  Rev.  A.  V.  G.,  97,  98,  100,  103 

Alpha  Delta  Club  House,  92 

Alpha  Delta  Phi,  92,  182,  290 

Altman,  Benjamin,  289,  290 

Amelia  Court  House,  Battle  of,  169 

Andover  Academy,  276 

Andrews,  John,  280 

Andrews,  Lorin,  82 

Appomattox,  282 

Appomattox,  Battle  of,  169 

Appomattox  Court  House,  166 

Arthur,  President  Chester  A.,  281 

Ascension  Hall,  83 

Astor,  John  Jacob,  3d,  294 

Astor,  William,  294 

Astor,  Mrs.  William,  294 

Astor,  William,  Sr.,  295 

Authors'  Club,  293 

Baker,  Rev.  Henry  D.  D.,  205 
Baldwin,   Adjutant   Henry,   134,   153. 
Ball,  Black  &  Company,  64,  75,  76 
Barings,  The,  269 
Barker,  Dr.  Fordyce,  125,  234 
Barnum,  P.  T.,  29,  30 
Barnum's  Museum,  29 
Beard,  Dr.  Geo.  M.,  182,  183,  189,  193, 
197,  209,  210,  212,  214,  233,  245,  261, 

269,  270,  302,  307,  312,  317 
Becker,  Tracy  E.,  223 

Beecher,    Henry   Ward,   72,   73,   165, 

270,  297 

Bell,  Alex.  Graham,  298,  299 
Bellevue  Hospital,  123 
Bellows,  Rev.  Dr.  H.  W.,  292 
Berkeley  Divinity  School,  95 
Bexley  Hall,  83 
Bierstadt,  Albert,  281 
Biggs,   Dr.   Herman,   243 
Black,  Starr  &  Frost,  64 


Blaine,  James  G.,  253 

Blair,  General  Frank  P.,  316 

Boggs,  Rev.  Dr.,  285 

Bozeman,  Dr.  Nathan,  215 

Bristow,  General  Benj.  F.,  235,  237 

Brooks,  Mrs.  Arthur,  98 

Brooks,  Phillips,  54,  103,  202,  203,  314 

Life  of,  98 
Brown,  Rev.  Percy,  103,  116,  198 
Browning,  Edward,  17 
Browning,  William,   17 
Brush,  Warden,  231 
Bryant,  William  C,  208 
Buchanan,  James,  313 
Burchall,   Norval  W.,   199 
Burns,  Robert,  199,  266 
Burnside,  General  Ambrose,  140 

Camp  Chase,  103,  113 
Canterbury,  Archbishop  of,  97 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  199,  244 
Carnegie,  Andrew,  95 
Carter,    Major-General    William    H., 

311,  312 
Chaffee,   Lieutenant-General,  46,  261, 

309,  310,  311,  313,  315 

Mrs.  Adna  R.,  312 
Chamberlain,  Daniel  Henry,  319 
Chamberlain,  General  J.  L.,  283,  319 
Chancellorsville,    The   Battlefield   of, 

140 
Chase,  Bishop  Philander,  83,  255 
Chase,  Camp,  103,  113 
Chase,  Salmon  P.,  253,  254,  255,  269, 

272 
Christy's  Ministrels,  29 
Church  Hill  Institute,  23 
Clark,  Dr.  Alonzo,  130 
Clay,  Cassius  M.,  115 
Clay,  Henry,  83,  253,  256 
Cleveland,  Grover,  103,  259 
Coan,  Dr.  Titus  Munsen,  293 
Cockran,  Bourke,  222,  223,  226,  228 
Cold  Harbor,  Battle  of,  149 


327 


328 


INDEX 


Colgate,  James  B.,  306 
Colby,   Mrs,   276,  306 
Colgate,  Mrs.  James  B.,  306 
Colgate,   Robert,   306 
Colgate,  Robert,  Jr.,  307 
Colgate,    William,    306 
Colton,  Annie,  108 
Colton,  Lina,  108 
Columbia  University,  124 
Comstock,  Philo,  88 
Comstock,  Seymour,  14,  58 
Comstock,  Steve,  26 
Comstock's  Pond,  31 
Conway,   Moncure   D,   293 
Cook,  Joseph,   185,  317,  318 
Cook,  Rev,  90 

Corey,  Rev.  Dr.  Geo.  H,  198,  205 
Crawford,  General  S.  W,  282 
Creighton,  Bishop,  239 
Crittenden,  Major-General,  116 
Curry,  Rev.  Dr.  Daniel,  206 
Custer,  General  Geo.  A,  145,  169 

Dana,  Dr.  Chas.  L,  185 

Danbury,  Conn,  15,  16,  18 

Darien,  Conn,  30 

Davies,  Judge  Henry  E,  285 

Davies,  Mrs.  Henry  E,  285 

Davies,   General  Henry  E,  Jr.,   145, 

152,   167,  285 
Davis,  Judge  David,  253 
Davis,  Henry  Winter,  253 
Davis,  Jefferson,  278 
Davis,    Murray,    93 
Davis,  Rev.  Wesley  R,  206 
Dean,  Caspar,  96 
Dean,  Dr.,   108,   109 
Detroit,  Mich,  59 
Dickens,  Charles,   125,  243 
Dinwiddie  Court  House,  167 
Dodge,   General   Granville  M,  316 
Dodge,  William  E,  275 
Dodge,  Mrs.  William  E,  275 
Doremus,  Dr.  R.  Ogden,  125 
Doty,  Rev.  William  D'Orville,  95 

Ectopic    gestation,    215 
Edinburgh  Medical  Review,   195 
Edison  Current,  The,  222 


Edison,  Thomas  A,  110,  184 

Edwards,  Life  of  Jonathan,  98 

Electro  Execution,  221 

Eliot,   George,   201 

Eliot,  Dr.  Geo.  T,  126,  132 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  16,  247,  270 

Emmet,  J.  K,  295 

Emmet,  Mrs.  J.  K,  296 

Emmet,  Dr.  Thomas  Addis,  130,  215, 

216 
Erb,  Professor,  243 
Erie  Canal,  88 
Evarts,  William     M,  273 
Ewell,   General   Richard   S,   169 

Farmville,  Battle  of,   169 

Fell,  Dr.  George  C,  229 

Five  Forks,  Battle  of,  167 

Flint,  Dr.  Austin,  Sr,  130,  192,  196 

Flint,  Dr.  Austin,  272 

Flushing,  Long  Island,  23,  52 

Ford,  Henry,  278 

Foss,  Rev.  Dr.  Cyrus  D,  204 

Fremont,  General  J.  C,  313 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  243,  256 

Fullerton,  Judge  William,  270,  271 

Funk,  Rev.  Dr.  Isaac  K,  297 

Funk  &  Wagnalls,  297 

Gallatin,  Albert,  295 

Gallatin,  James,  Diary  of,  295 

Gambier,  83 

Garfield,  President  James  A,  129,  314 

Gardiner,    Colonel   Asa   Bird,  216 

George,  John,  114 

Gerry,    Eldridge,    232 

Gilbert,   Dr.   R.   H,  288 

Gilder,  Mr,  28 

Goin,  Charlie,  24,  25 

Gordon,  General  James  B,  146 

Gordon,  Nathaniel,  280 

Grant,   General  U.   S,  137,  155,  167, 

206,  235,  266,  277 
Gray,  Dr.  Landon  Carter,  225,  227 
Greenwich,  Conn,   18,  20 
Green,   Bishop    D.   H,   100 
Gregg,  General  David  McG,  145,  152, 

164 


INDEX 


329 


Griffin,  General  Charles,  282 
Grimes,  Senator  James  W.,  272 
Grosvenor,  Rev.  Dr.,  23 

Haggin,  James  B.,  303 
Hamersley,  J.  Hooker,  304 
Hamersley,  William,  305 
Hamilton,  Dr.  Frank  H.,  128,  129 
Hammond,  Dr.  William  A.,  126,  127, 

185 
Hampton,    General    Wade,    148,    153, 

320 
Hardy,  Thomas,  201,  240,  242 
Harlem,  78 
Harlem,   Old,  200 
Harper,  Jack,  84,  95 
Hart,  Sir  Robert,  310 
Hawes'  Shop,  Battle  of,  148 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  280 
Hay,  John,  310 
Hayes,  Rutherford  B.,  253,  259,  276, 

320 
Hayes,  Mrs.  R.  B.,  258,  276 
Henry,  Professor  Joseph,  299 
Hepworth,  Rev.  George  H.,  206 
Hobart,   Captain   Frederick,   322 
Hobart   College,   92 
Holmes,   Oliver   Wendell,   324 
Hood,  General  J.  B.,  266 
Hooker,   General  Joseph,   137,   140 
Howells,    William    Dean,    105 
Howland,   Mrs.  Gardner,  256 
Hudson,  Dr.  E.  Darwin,  180 
Hunter,  General  David,  149 
Hurd,   Frank,    103 
Huxley,  Professor  H.,  245 

Indian  Rock,  63 

Irving,  Washington,  257,  276 

Iselin,   Adrian,   Sr.,   300 

Janeway,   Colonel,   172 

Jay,   John,   290 

Jay,    Chief   Justice  John,   290 

Jay,  Judge  William,  290 

Jerome,  W.  T.,  320 

Johnson,  Andrew,  198,  199,  272 


Kane,  Colonel  Delancey,  300 
Keeler,  Ralph,  105 
Kemp,    George,   300,   302,   303 
Kendrick,  Bishop  John,  101 
Kent,   Chancellor,  286 
Kenyon  College,  82,  84,  99 
Kerwin,  General  Michael,  228 
King,  Rev.  James  M.,  D.  D.,  206 
Klaw,  Marc,  321 

La  Bruyere,  244 

Lake  Waccabuc,  46 

Landon,  Henry  B.,  119 

Landon,  Susannah,   198 

Lang,   Professor  Benjamin,   100 

Langdon,  Mrs.,  283 

Laudy,  Professor,  221,  231 

Lee,  General  Fitzhugh,   148,   153 

Lee,  General  Robert  E.,  167,  169,  171, 

172,  314 
Leonard,  Bob,  28 
Lewis,  Burroughs,  279 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  174,  254,  256,  291, 

293 
Linsly,  Dr.  Jared,  267 
Loeser,  Frederick,  288,  289 
Loomis,  Dr.  Alfred  L.,  223 
Lorillard,    Pierre,   129 
Loyal   Legion,   The,  92 
Luaces,  Antonio,  29 
Luaces,  Emilio,  29 
Lyman,   Commissioner,  238 

McBurney,  Dr.  Robert,  215 
McClellan,   General  George  B.,   140, 

198 
McCurdy,   Robert,  298 
McCurdy,    Robert   A.,   298 
Macdonald,  Dr.  Carlos,  221,  231 
Macllvaine,  Bishop,  94 
MacKenzie,  General  Ranald  S.,  172 
McKinley,  William,  254,  292 
McLean,  Dr.  Malcolm,  217 
McPherson,   General   J.   B.,   235 
McVicker,   Rev.  William,  202,  203 
Mann,  George,  96 
Mansfield,  General  J.  K.  F.,  282 


330 


INDEX 


Marlborough,   Duke  of,  305 

Marquand  &  Company,  65 

Marsh,  Dr.  E.  J.,  312 

Marsh,  Dr.  E.  T.,  163 

Matthews,  Stanley,  253 

Mayo,  William  S.,  286 

Mazzetti's,   25 

Mendenhall,  93 

Metcalfe,  Dr.  John  T„  123,  262,  314, 

315 
Michigan,  University  of  121 
Milan,   Ohio,   88,   99 
Miles,  General  Nelson  A.,  291 
Miller,  "Dr."  William,  191,  194,  195 
Milnor  Hall,  85,  86 
Morgan,  General  J.  H.,  115 
Morgan,   J.    P.,    276 
Morgan,   Tom,    115 
Morton,  Dr.  William  J.,  220 
Murray,  Rev.  William  H.  H.,  318 

Nail,    Mr.,    59 

Nast,  Thomas,  284 

New   Canaan,   Conn.,   19,  20,  42,  44, 

75,  177 
Newman,  Rev.  Dr.  John  P.,  206 
Niven,  General  Archibald  C,  277 
North,   John,    102 
Norwalk,  Conn.,  15,  23,  33,  88 
Norwalk  Gazette,  The,  53 
Noyes,  Dr.,  35 
Nu  Phi  Kappa  Society,  93 

Old  Sarah's  Cave,  44 
Oliver    Twist,    181 
Oronhyateka,  85,  86,  87,  246 
Owen,    Charlie,   29 
Owen,  Thomas,  29 

Packer,    Asa,    307 

Parker,  Dr.  Willard,  21,  23,  28,  30,  192 

Payne,   Bill,   93 

Pearsall,    Marvin,   25 

Peck,  Alphonso,  18 

Peet,   George   Creighton,   239 

Peters,  Dr.  George,  215 

Phillips,  Wendell,  320 


Phillpotts'  "Dartmoor"  novels,  241 

Pitt,  William,  306 

Piatt,    Senator   O.   H.,   319 

Plymouth   Church,  72 

Poe,  Dr.  Charles,  132 

Polk,  Dr.  William  M.,  314 

Post,   Louis   W.,  225 

Potter,  Hon.  Mr.,  273 

Potter,  Bishop  Alonzo,  273 

Potter,    Hon.    Clarkson    N.,   273 

Potter,  President  Eliphalet  N.,  273 

Potter,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry,  273 

Potter,  Bishop  Horatio,  273 

Potter,   Howard,  273 

Potter,  General  Robert.,  273 

Price,    Commodore,   305 

Price,  Lily,  305 

Pryor,  General  Roger  A.,  165,  271 

Putnam,  Avery  D.,  301 

Putnam,   George   Haven,  257 

Putnam's  Hill,  19 

Rapidan,  The  Crossing  of,  139 

Read,  Buchanan,   173 

Reading,  Conn.,  14 

Reams'  Station,  157 

Reese,   Dr.,    196 

Richards,  Dr.,  35 

Richter,  Jean  Paul,   183 

Ridgefield,  Conn.,  15,  42,  44,  177 

Ridgefield,  Battle  of,  43 

Ridgeway,   Rev.  Dr.  Henry  B.,  202, 

204,  205 
Roberts,  Dr.,  36 

Rockwell,   Alphonso   David,   13 
Rockwell,  Captain  Bertrand,  310 
Rockwell,  Charles  Lee,  46 
Rockwell,  John,  178 
Rockwell,  Dr.  T.  Hawley,  121 
Ralston,  Roswell  G.,  275 
Roosa,  Dr.  D.  B.  St.  John,  219 
Roosevelt,    Theodore,   260,   261,   262, 

263,  315 
Roosevelt,   Theodore,   Jr.,   263 
Rosecrans,  General,  254 
Ross,  Senator  George,  273 
Rosse  Chapel,  83 
Rosser,  General  Thomas  W.,  167 


INDEX 


33i 


St.  Mary's  Church,  Battle  of,  152 

Sands,  Dr.  Henry  B.,  130 

"Sartor  Resartus,"  324 

Schiller,    244 

Searight,  William,  93 

Sachs,    Dr.    Bernard,    225,    226,    227 

Sailor's  Creek,  Battle  of,  169 

Salisbury,  Mrs.,  298 

Salisbury,  Professor,  298 

Scribner,   Charles,  280 

Shaffer,  Chauncey,  313 

Shaffer,  Dr.  Newton,  289 

Shepherd,  A.  R.,  236,  237 

Sheridan,    General    Philip    H.,     137, 

146,  155,  166,  167,  168,  171,  173,  266, 

282 
Sherman,  John,  267 
Sherman,    General   William   T.,    141, 

265,  270,  316 
Shiloh,    Battle  of,   235 
Shrady,  Dr.  George  M,  127 
Sickles,  General  Daniel  E.,  259 
Silliman,  Joe,  80 

Sims,  Dr.  J.  Marion,  130,  215,  307 
Slattery,  Rev.  Charles  Lewis,  100 
Sheer,  Rev.  Thomas  R.,  D.  D.,  292, 

293 
Smith,  General  Charles,  161,  162,  163 
Smith,  Daniel,  36 
Smith,  Professor  Stephen,  129 
Smith,  E.  Delafield,  280 
Smith,   Sydney,  207 
Squibb,    Dr.,    196,    197 
Stamford,  Conn.,  23 
Stanton,  Edwin  M..,  253,  259,  276 
Stanton,  Edwin  M.  Jr.,  101,  259 
Stedman,  Colonel  William,  134 
Steele,  Dr.  Theophilus,  114 
Sterne,    Simon,   280 
Stony   Creek,    156 
Strong,  Rev.,  84,  85 
Stuart,  Judge  Edward,  112 
Stuart,  General  "Jeb,"  145,  146 
Stubbs,  Rev.  Dr.,  285 
Stuvesant,  Peter,  276,  277 
Sumter,    Fort,   282 
Sweeny,    General    Thomas    W.,    315, 

316 


Tappan,  Arthur,  218 

Taylor,  Annette,  108 

Taylor,  Dr.  Isaac  E.,  129 

Taylor,  Judge,   108 

Taylor,   Moses,  274,  275,  304 

Taylor,  Rev.  Dr.  William  M.,  185 

Taylor,    W.    W.,   99 

Thackeray,  William  M.,  279 

Thaw,  Harry,  95 

Thomas,   Dr.   T.   Gaillard,   215,   216, 

218,   314 
Tiffany  &  Company,  64 
Tilden,  Governor  S.  J.,  284 
T  intern   Abbey,   240 
Torbert,  General  Alfred  T.  A.,  152 
Tracy,  General  Benjamin  F.,  271 
Train,  George  Francis,  278,  279 
Treadwell,  Colonel,  262 
Tremain,  Colonel  Henry  E.,  286 
Trevilian  Station,  Battle  of,  149 
Trimble,  Matt,  94 
Trollope,  Anthony,  242,  248,  279 
Twain,  Mark,  185,  283,  318 
Tweed,  William  M.,  283,  284 
Twichell,  Rev.  Dr.  J.  H.,  185 
Tyng,   Rev.  Dudley  A.,  285 
Tyng,  Rev.  Stephen  H.,  D.  D.,  218 
Tyng,  Mrs.  Stephen  H.,  284 
Tyng,   Rev.   Stephen  H.,  Jr.,  D.  D., 

218,  284,  285 

University  of  Michigan,  121 

Vanderbilt,     Commodore     Cornelius, 

267,  268,  274,  275,  304 
Vanderbilt,  Captain  Jacob,  269,  270 
Van  Dyke,  Rev.  Henry,  141 
Van   Orden,  John,  201 
Vincent,  General  T.  M.,  260 

Waldersee,   Count,   46 
Waldersee,   Countess,   46 
Wales,  Prince  of,  86 
Wallace,  General  Lew,  114 
Ward,  Mrs.  Humphry,  99 
Warren,  General  G.  K.,  282,  283 
Washington,    George,    256 
Weber,   Dr.   Leonard,  243 


332  INDEX 

Webster,  Daniel,  253,  256  Wirt,   William,  256,  257 

West,  Alfred,  226  Woman's  Hospital,  New  York,  215 

Westinghouse  Electric  Company,  221      Wood,  Dr.  James  R,  128,  129 

Weyman,  Stanley,  240  Wood  &  Company,  William,  195,  211, 

White,  Stanford,  95  Woodford,  Stewart  L.,  92,  126,  313 

Wightman,  T.  W.,  201  Woolsey,   President  T.  D.,  320 

Wilderness,  Battle  of  the,  146 

Wile,  William  C,  16  Yarrington,   Rev.   Mr.,  20 

Williams,  Bishop  John,  54  Yellow  Tavern,  Battle  of,  146 

Williams,  Rev.  Mr.,  79  Yorkville,  200 

Wilson,  General  James  H.,  145  Young,  Professor  Charles,  112 


Paul  B.  Hoeber,  67-69-71  East  59th  Street,  New  York. 


